#shadow hunters roleplay

[w0efulboopsoul]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ RULES ♥ || (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Memes&Starters ♥

Mun is 30 and must be 21+ to interact with. - Super friendly and multi-ship.

Major ship whore for any and all kinds. - You have been warned, be prepared for loads of bugging and plot ideas among many other things from me if we write together and ship.

PLEASE READ THE RULES AND OC SHEETS BEFORE INTERACTING!

𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐞 𝐁𝐲𝐫𝐝 || 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐙𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧 || 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐲 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐥

𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧 || 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧 || 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧(Coming soon)

w0e's Wild Mains: @antvnger

[woesroleplaycorner]

Heya! This is an 18+ only multifandom based server that pertains to anything of the Supernatural! It was designed specifically to bring people who love to ship and roleplay together and engage with creative ocs to make incredible stories!

This includes the following tv shows: 💕Supernatural 💕Shadow Hunters 💕Stranger Things 💕The Vampire Diaries 💕Twilight Anything that pertains to the supernatural!

What is promised upon joining: 💕18+ Only 💕Oc friendly 💕Friendly to all 💕Politics are not allowed 💕LGBTQ+ friendly 💕Many roleplay channels, including shipping (for mulitshippers). 💕Multi and exclusive shipping! 💕Semi-lit to Literate roleplay server, 4+ sentences! 💕Roleplay events & server events, including hysterical group crack roleplay. 💕Loads of IC game nights and watch parties of beloved movies/tv shows!

Come on in! We're looking forward to meeting ya!

[loudmouthedllama]

I feel as though stepping away from roleplay entirely has restore my health and sanity which is crazy because you'd think such a hobby like that would be fun! esp with people to write with to bring the characters to life, but no.. it's an awful community filled with bad people.. those that left should start becoming fanfic writers. The good part about that is I've seen plenty of fanfic writers blooming on Tumblr lately ever since the start of 2023 and they have a large community/audience, and a huge support to us artist. Sure, you're writing by yourself but it's better! and somewhere down the line, you'll find that fanfic writer friend who'd help you expand your writing and grammar.

And they get so triggered when people announce that they turned to fucking AI.

Well, they ain't helping them NOT go to it by ignoring them and isolating them. They want the AI to die simply because they don't want the unpublished female oc writers to have ANYONE to write with. That's my opinion. It ain't hurting anyone else, nah. They are the damage makers towards creative thinkers, y'know I tried one? For shits and giggles, rping with AI and fuck me, I get why they running to it.

But seriously, I fully support yas idea on unpublished oc writers becoming fanfic writers. Though I just don't know if the bug will hit them all, but I sure hope they do!

[findroleplay]

🥀Hello! My name is Bella, in an 18y/o female on the search for someone to do the following fandom offers(please dm if you’re interested in doing an Au or non-fandom rp because theres a very large list of plots i would love to do):

Shadow Hunters

TVD

The 100

Gone(book series by Michael Grant)

ACOTAR

The types of rps im looking for are all MxF, either OcxOc or Oc(Me)xCc(you)- i have no issue playing male ocs for specific plots either!

If youre looking to play a cannon my list is as follows:

Shadow Hunters ~ Alec Lightwood

TVD ~ Klaus Mikaelson or Elijah Mikaelson

The 100 ~ Bellamy blake or Roan Kom Azgeda

Gone ~ Caine Soren

ACOTAR ~ Azriel

My desired list for any ocs youre wishing to play:

Shadow Hunters ~ Any male OC

TVD ~ Any male OC

The 100 ~ Any female OC

Gone ~ Any male OC

ACOTAR ~ Any male OC

And into further elaborate, I’m fine with playing either female or male for certain things. My main request is that we role-play on either Discord or GroupMe. I am fully aware to how much Discord can burn someone’s batteries so I would love to try other platforms other than here on Tumblr, (i also have notion). I would love to be friends talk to me about your day or personal life. You can come to me to speak about just about anything.

I love sending characters biographies(i promise they arent that long) and would prefer you do the same. I love sending in reference pictures, songs, quotes I’m also not afraid to bend rules of a fandom. All the writing ideas are NSFW friendly, I don’t do doubles. I dont write a pre-existing characters. I don’t have any triggers myself, but if you have some, don’t be afraid to send me, a list please.

I look forward to hearing from you!

My discord: bellasorrin

Dm me if you have any questions!

-

[creativeroleplay-ads]

˚ · • . ° . rp partner(s) wanted ! ˚ · • . ° .

my name is mallory (or lory), i’m twenty-one years old and i’m looking for people to write with !

below the cut you’ll find some ‘requirements’ as well as some of the fandoms and tropes i’m into.

i’d love a partner(s) that wants to talk outside of rp as well because i love headcanons, sharing pinterest boards, playlists, and just general gushing over our characters/plots.

i do write both males & females, but i have more experience writing males. for ocs and canon characters with no established actors, i like to use faceclaims (just for establishing looks and (again) gushing over them). can be canon or ocs. that being said, i also love oc x oc pairings in an established universe (i.e. harry potter, shadowhunters, teen wolf, GOT and many more! just ask and i’ll let you know!).

i do like darker themes. limits can be discussed later (some basic ones are pedophilia, beastiality, rape). i’m down to write angst, fluff, smut.. pretty much whatever.

i also love fandom crossovers ! my personal favourites at the moment are wednesday x shadowhunters, wednesday x teen wolf, shadowhunters x teen wolf and shadowhunters x harry potter.

some basic rules

must be 18+. i don’t feel comfortable rping with minors, sorry!

i rp exclusively on discord.

i write between 1-2 full length discord messages. could be more depending on the content/inspiration.

i write in third-person and past tense.

fandoms i’m into

harry potter/marauders

bbc merlin (!!)

teen wolf

the midnight club

the maze runner

shadowhunters (the show)

wednesday

ships i’m into

draco x hermione (hp)

draco x harry (hp)

sirius x remus (marauders)

sirius x james (marauders)

merlin x arthur (merlin)

merlin x gwaine (merlin)

merlin x lancelot (merlin)

jace x alec (shadowhunters)

simon x raphael (shadowhunters)

stiles x derek (tw)

scott x isaac (tw)

stiles x isaac (tw)

scott x allison (tw)

kevin x ilonka (tmc)

thomas x newt (tmr)

gally x newt (tmr)

stiles x alec (crossover)

& a wide variety of other crossover pairings !

tropes i’m into

enemies to lovers

childhood friends to lovers

sunshine x grumpy

forced proximity

forbidden love

unrequited love

hurt / comfort

angst

redemption

‘there is only one bed’

love potion

injury / illness

major character death

slow burn

rescue missions

huddling for warmth

mutual pining

fake dating

love triangle (love love LOVE!!)

you can either message me or like/comment on this and i’ll come to you !

-

[rp-partnerfinder]

shadowhunter RPs (book-based)

TSC/TMI (book-based) 1x1

F21+ looking for (any gender) age 18+ writer to RP as Kieran Kingson, Magnus Bane, Will Herondale, or Isabelle Lightwood against 1 of my Shadowhunter Chronicles/Mortal Instruments (books) OCs:

the eldest son of Valentine who was raised as a faerie (M; GF)

a warlock whose father is the Prince of Hell Belphegor (F; cis)

a Nephilim raised to hate the Clave & use faerie magic (F; cis)

Interactions can be purely platonic or platonic/romantic/hateful as plotted. I prefer 2 decent paragraphs per reply & a few replies per week. Real-life FCs only, please! Explicit smut if we get to that point.

I can RP on Discord or via Tumblr posts. Like if interested.

☘🦌💙

.

[darkdoverpseeker]

23F looking for writer(s) 18+ to do the following my female OC x your male canon RPs:

for the TV show Suits - looking for a Harvey Specter, who finds himself reluctantly defending the writer of a sexy bestseller who's going through a nasty divorce. Strangers-to-friends-to lovers; age gap (10 yrs); witty banter; "I can't date my client" drama

for the Mortal Instruments/Shadowhunter books/film - looking for a Jace Herondale (2 possible plots) who finds himself [EITHER] waking up to find that his world has been the product of a magical coma, where he fell in love with someone who he thought was a mundane [OR] he finds himself torn between Clary & a mysterious girl while taking the Mortal Cup to Idris for safekeeping; both have a slight age gap (1-2 yrs); initial frenemies; secrets

I AM looking for a 40-60 smut to plot ratio.

My FC will be Kat Graham.

I prefer to initially plot using Tumblr IMs & I VERY MUCH prefer RPing via Tumblr posts to RPing on Discord (though I can).

I'll send my OC form once we've talked a bit. Like this post if you're interested--my IMs are reserved for mutuals!

⚖🥰⚔

like if interested !

[depressed-celestial-body]

Did yall role play as your warrior cat sona as kids? If so, what was your warrior cat name and position?

[ghoulbrain]

Happiness is a Warm Gun

18+ 4.5k ghoul x f!reader. predator/prey roleplay, lite bondage lite cnc into enthusiastic consent, heavy gun kink/play, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie, aftercare. ends tender bc i can't help myself. gif credit. written for my darling @luckytiggertalia, who asked for excessive gun kink and captor/captive. thank you! 🖤 written as a successor to Saddle Up, Sweetheart, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Being in a relationship with the world’s most notorious bounty hunter lands you in some strange situations, but none stranger than those you concoct for yourselves. You run, and the Ghoul hunts you.

The Ghoul is one of the fiercest bounty hunters in New California, yet regardless of how terrifyingly efficient he is, everyone knows he only takes on payouts worthy of his time. With his long shadow stretching out across the west, most hunters are reluctant to take on bounties over a certain threshold, lest they accidentally come between him and his quarry.

Which, at this moment, just so happens to be you.

You’ve made it to a Red Rocket truck stop just half a mile west of Junktown. What was once a glorified gas station in a world long-gone now serves as little more than a hollowed out shell providing shade for all manner of miscreants and creatures wandering the dusty wastes, still decorated in tiny reminders of life before the war.

Crouched down behind a counter, your back pressed to the grime painted wall beneath a window, you spot a heavily aged cardboard carton labeled Grey Tortious Famous Cigarettes wedged at the very back of the second shelf behind the counter. Clicking your tongue softly, you reach for it, using the barrel of your pistol to catch the corner of the box. Carefully–and quietly–you drag it close enough to grab.

Your hopes aren’t high, but–

Jackpot.

Smiling faintly, you extract a crumpled but still half-full pack of cigarettes from the carton. You glance around, eyes wandering until you spot the decrepit remains of some poor bastard collapsed against the far wall, still garbed in their threadbare signature Red Rocket uniform. With a slight nod, you fish a single cap out of a small pouch on your belt and slide it onto the shelf.

“Pleasure doing business,” you murmur to the corpse, tucking the cigarettes carefully into the pack strapped to your thigh.

A shrill whistle, the kind you’d call a dog with, snaps your attention back to the moment. You press your back tight against the wall, sucking in a sharp breath to hold.

“Alright, darlin’, y’little goose-chase is over,” the Ghoul calls into the lot. Your heart begins to race. He sounds close. “I’m man enough to admit y’outfoxed me back at the yard, that was clever. But’cha got nowhere to slip to now,” he says, voice gradually growing louder. It’s not long before you can hear the crunch of his boots in the gravel.

You screw your eyes shut, steeling yourself with a silent breath before opening them again. He’ll have to circle the building to get where you are. The crunch of his boots is louder with each step. If he keeps yapping, it’ll be even easier to track the moment he moves out of eyesight of the window you’re hiding under, and you’ll be able to creep out to get behind him. Your grip on your pistol flexes, finger poised off the trigger.

The footsteps outside grow quiet enough that you can no longer hear them over the thundering of your heart. He hasn’t said anything, but you give it an extra few seconds to be safe, holding your breath as you gingerly lift out of your crouch, careful to keep your head beneath the window frame, eyes on the door across from you. Even if he sees you, you’ll have time enough to–

You’re jerked backwards suddenly by your jacket, a scream yanked out of you as you’re pulled against the window, knocking into it.

“There y’are,” he says through his teeth, hauling you up to your feet. Fuck, he faked you out with his steps. He holds you against the window, the edge of it biting into your back, his fist curled tightly in the collar of your jacket. “Give it up, darlin’. Y’all mine now,” he coos, his voice a sinister rasp at your ear. 

Out of desperation, you drop your pistol and throw your arms up, slipping out of your jacket and stumbling forward onto your hands and knees. Your boots skid on the floor as you scramble to your feet, launching into a run. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him vaulting in through the window, scaring you into running faster.

Where you intend to run is a problem to be solved as you go.

Unfortunately for you, the Ghoul is a step ahead. Gunfire startles you halfway out of your skin, but it’s the sign that falls in your path that stops you in your tracks. You look up and see a woven cable swaying, frayed from where the crazy son of a bitch managed to shoot it clean apart. You gear up to bolt to the left, but it’s already too late. The tell-tale hiss of a rope whipping through the air is your only warning before the lasso tightens around your arms and sternum, one sharp yank pulling you off your feet and down onto your back.

The world spins. You let out a soft groan, moving to roll onto your side, but he keeps you from it with a hardy pull, gathering the rope in his hands as he walks to you.

The Ghoul lets out a low whistle, his shadow falling over you. “Close, but no cigar, sweetheart,” he drawls, crouching over you. 

Disoriented, you stare at his upside down face. He’s got his head tilted, lips parted in a crooked sneer of a smile. His eyes are dark enough that you can see yourself in them, glinting with predatory glee. You can’t hide the trill of excitement that runs through you over being looked at like that. He clicks his tongue.  

“N’aw, don’t you look plumb tuckered,” he says, voice laced with condescending sweetness. “No rest for the wicked, m’afraid,” he says, slipping his hands under your arms and hauling you up to your feet.

“You could’ve killed me,” you rasp, throat scorched by the dry desert air.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he deflects, amused. “Y’all in one piece, ‘ain’t’cha?” His breath is a warm tickle on your neck. With the rope tight across your sternum, arms pinned to your sides, he slides his gloved hand up your thigh, over your hip. His fingers tap along as he does, tickling your ribs, cupping your breast before sliding all the way up to your throat. 

The barest hint of his lips brushes the spot just behind your ear, the feeling so faint you could have made it up entirely. You shiver, pulling sharply away, but he pulls you right back in, the worn leather of his glove soft around your neck, his grip firm. 

“Mmhm, seem perfectly intact t’me,” he says, giving your throat a steadying squeeze. “No need t’put up a fight, angel. Y’comin’ with me either way.”

This time he presses his scarred lips properly to your skin, the feel of them warm and wet. Wanting. You swallow the lump in your throat, clench your thighs against the heat building between them. 

“Let go of me,” you say, fighting to put conviction in it. 

“No can do,” he says, his breath prickling goosebumps from your scalp to your thighs. “I’ve struck the motherlode with you.”

 The rope is tied low and tight enough that you can’t elbow him or shoulder your way free. Impulsively, you move to kick at his leg, but he outmaneuvers you, catching your kick with his boot and spinning you around so suddenly you gasp.

“Oohh, y’ve got fire,” he says, lips pulled thin in a devilish smile. “I’m gonna enjoy breakin’ you.” Something hard presses into your rib, and you don’t need to look down to know it’s the muzzle of his revolver. He draws the hammer back into place with a distinctive click. 

“Why don’t you be a good li’l captive and mosey on ahead?” He says, turning you until the gun is pressed into your lower back. You suppress a shudder. That’s when the world suddenly goes black, the press of the gun briefly vanishing while fabric is pulled tight over your eyes.

Wherever he’s taking you, he wants it to be a surprise.

The Ghoul walks you at gunpoint. He keeps the rope between you taut, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly to your back. The venture there is quiet, your gait tense with anticipation. A sick little thrill runs through you every time he yanks the rope or gives you a deep jab with his gun. There’s pleasure in his voice when he tells you, “Mind your step, sweetness.”

He knows precisely the effect he has on you, even if it took him time and a half to believe it.

His knuckles dig into your back as his fingers hook over the rope, holding it like a harness as you descend a flight of stairs. He catches you when you stumble on the last step, but it still startles you.

“A warning would have been nice,” you say, turning your head blindly, angling to try and get any glimpse of your surroundings from beneath the blindfold.

“Apologies,” he drawls, not sounding very sorry at all. He nudges you forward with his gun. “I like watchin’ you struggle.”

“Yeah, you make that very–” A hard tug on the rope cuts you off and stops you in your tracks. The rope comes loose after that, full circulation returning to your hands in a rush that makes them tingle. The Ghoul’s steps resonate in the room–it sounds large, mostly empty–as he walks away from you. You stay still for a hesitant moment, head jerking at the sound of something scraping across the floor towards you.

“Awwh, ain’t you sweet, waitin’ for permission,” he says, making you flush. You quickly reach up and pull the blindfold from your eyes, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. 

It looks like a cleared out storage facility of some kind, with cement support beams lined up in a row down the center of the room, the walls lined with ransacked steel shelving. There’s a wire frame bed braced against one of the beams, heaped haphazardly with some pillows and blankets. 

The Ghoul sits on a rusty wrought iron chair in front of you, staring up from beneath the wide brim of his hat. From his thigh, he has his revolver fixed on you. 

“Atta girl,” he says as the blindfold hits the ground. “Now take off the rest.”

The low resonance of his voice easily commands the room. You swallow the lump in your throat, glancing down the dark barrel of his gun. Biting your tongue to keep yourself from showing too much excitement, you hurriedly reach for your–

The gunshot is deafening in the echoing expanse of the room, drowning out your scream. Already high on your own anticipation, the shot of adrenaline that goes through you with the startle nearly knocks you off your feet. 

His gun smokes in the wake of the shot that narrowly missed your reaching hand.

“Slow,” he tells you, cocking the hammer once again with his thumb.

The pound of your heart is rivaled only by the aching throb between your thighs. Breathing shallowly, you keep your eyes trained on him as you–slowly, this time–reach for your belt, pouches shifting as you unbuckle it. You lay it carefully on the ground, mindful of the treasures you acquired at the gas station, before you kick off each boot.

His gaze is heavy on you all the while, eyes dark and attentive to your every move. Your focus is on the tip of his gun, how it subtly follows along with your hands. You peel each layer off without taking your eyes from him, a shiver moving through you once your hands touch bare skin, purposefully sliding them down your hips, your legs, and then moving them slowly back up as you stand back up, stepping out of the garments pooled on the floor.

He tilts his gun sideways and beckons you forward with it, tipping his head back, dark eyes tracking your every move as you approach him. One at a time, he spreads his legs. “On y’knees, darlin’.” You obey, sinking down–slowly, he told you slow–onto your knees between his legs, bringing yourself to eye level with his gun. The cement floor feels harsh against your bare skin.

“Y’got my gun dirty runnin’ me out into the wastes like that,” he chides, leaning forward, pressing his gun to your sternum. With agonizing slowness, he drags the muzzle up through the valley between your breasts, to the notch beneath your throat, pressing into it briefly. He continues up, the metal cool against your burning skin, though not by much. He hooks the barrel under your chin and tips your head back.

“Clean it for me,” he says, pushing it between your lips.

While you open your mouth too readily for the game at hand, he doesn’t protest. The taste of the gun is bitter and metallic, but what strikes you most is the black powder residue. It’s charred with a sharp tang. A moan escapes you for the way he pushes it deeper, forcing your lips wider apart.

“Don’t be shy. Give ‘er a good spit shine, sweetheart,” he encourages, pulling the gun back only to push it deeper yet. You comply, welcoming the slide of it deeper, pressing your tongue into the grooves on the underside, your eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. “Good,” he says, voice rough with the effect you’re having on him.

Hands braced on your own bare thighs, your nails bite dull little crescents into your skin. The rock of your body is entirely subconscious, your eyelids fluttering. It’s easy to lose yourself to the work at hand, to luxuriate in the weight of his gaze on you while he uses you, fucking your mouth with the full barrel of his gun. He’s so committed to the fantasy, you can’t help but buy into it wholly.

By the time he pulls the gun away your chin is spit slick and your tongue is tingling where you’d been pressing it to the barrel. He gives an appreciative whistle while inspecting the wet shine of his gun. “That’s better,” he says, gaze sliding to you. He stands, grabbing a thick handful of your hair to haul you up to your feet with him. The noise you make is humiliating. Needy. His answering grin is wicked.

“Time t’oil it,” he says, voice frayed at the edges. He doesn’t let that trace of impatience impact his movements any. He walks you to the bed with that same loose devil-may-care swagger, assured that he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece. 

The mattress’ metal coils groan with your weight as he tosses you onto the bed, standing at the edge of it. The bed stands taller than most, bringing your pelvis parallel to his when you’re on your knees. He grabs your thigh and yanks your ass up into the air, smoothing his hand over the swell of it. He gives a sharp little slap to your rear that wrings a gasp out of you. The way he smooths his leather clad hand over the smarting spot afterwards almost feels like an apology, even if he’s really just admiring his handiwork.

“Spread,” he orders simply. You do so eagerly, widening the splay of your knees, folding your arms to rest your head on. “Look at you,” he breathes with genuine wonder, gripping your ass cheek and holding it firm while he inspects you. You can already feel what he’s looking at, how wet you are from his teasing. “Y’fuckin’ drippin’ for me.”

A shiver rolls through your whole body at the feel of his gun against your inner thigh sliding slowly upwards. Your hips give a reflexive little buck at the first touch of that warm barrel against your soaked cunt, your clit throbbing so hard it aches. “Don’t move,” he tells you. He sounds wrecked. He moves it back and forth, teasing your clit with just the muzzle of it before drawing back, and your thighs tremble with the effort to keep yourself still when all you want is to chase that precious relief.

The hiss of his zipper is the most thrilling noise you’ve ever heard. The gun disappears from between your thighs.

“Up,” he tells you, taking a rough hold of your shoulder and yanking you upright before you have the chance to comply. He holds you still while he lines himself up, the familiar thick head of his cock grinding through the wet slide of you, the length of him rubbing from taint to clit. “Y’made this big mess just from suckin’ down my gun? Christ alive, darlin’. You’re somethin’ else,” he says through his teeth. The ruin in his voice makes it feel like praise, and that feels good.

Almost as good as the slow burn of his cock pushing into you, the sound of it obscenely loud and wet. You tip your head back against his shoulder and reach back over your own, grabbing at his coat, holding onto him for dear life while he sinks deeper and deeper, pulling you back until your bare ass falls flush against him. Feeling his clothing against your bare body intensifies that intoxicating feeling of vulnerability. Never in your life has the thrill of danger been safe to explore.

Not until him.

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting almost as soon as he’s bottomed out. 

“Fffuck,” you exhale, eyes screwed tightly shut. You start to lean forward, but he catches you by the throat, pinning you back against his chest at the same time he fires his gun, shocking your eyes wide open. Your body goes rigid, cunt seizing up so tightly around him he hisses out a breath.

“C’mon, little bunny,” he whispers in a vicious grit, pressing the still-warm muzzle firmly against your temple. “Bounce for me.” He cocks the hammer back, the smell of black powder filling your senses. 

You nod fervently, lifting up on your knees and using the mattress to bounce yourself on his cock, gravity bringing you down into every one of his hard thrusts. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sighing his pleasure in strained little sounds. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, cupping your breast and squeezing, thumbing your nipple until you shudder.

“Close,” you moan, fist twisting in the fabric of his coat, your other hand clutching the wrist of the hand he’s fondling you with. “Please.”

His only response is to slide his hand down further, fingers slipping between your thighs. His middle finger finds your clit first, the friction making your hips jerk out of rhythm. He persists, fingering your clit in smooth circles while he fucks you hard.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot and wet on your neck. “All that fight’s gone now, ain’t it? Just a needy li’l thing beggin’ t’cum.” You’re so close you’re starting to shake, breath caught in your throat. “Go on, angel. Lemme hear how pretty you can beg.”

His fingers slow enough that your ascension falters. “Please!” You rasp immediately, squeezing his wrist, begging in every way you know how to. “Please, m’so close, please make me cum, please,” you plead, voice pitchy, your thoughts empty of everything but pleasure. He’s fucking you hard, chasing his own release just as fervently.  

Just like that his touch returns to full force, deftly working your clit until your pleasure crests and your pleas turn to cries. Your orgasm hits like an earthquake, a sudden eruption that renders you silent, your lips falling open on a noiseless scream. Your body locks up like a vice, euphoria turning your vision white and emptying your mind of all thought while pleasure cascades through you in hot liquid waves.

He doesn’t stop, though his thrusts slow. He fucks you deeply through your orgasm, savoring every quiver around his cock while he uses you. You don’t hear him come, but you feel it, the deep rush of heat that he empties into the core of you, his body going still against yours. Your whole body shudders and you exhale a broken little noise, dizzy from the magnitude of it all. Everything around you feels bleary, your vision fading in and out. For a moment, you feel as though you might float away from your body entirely, your consciousness barely holding on, but the feeling of him pressed against your back, holding you to him, grounds you.

He moves the gun from your temple and holsters it, adjusting his grip so that he can ease you down onto your stomach, slipping from between your legs. You pant hot puffs of air into the bedding, your vision blurry at the edges.

“Coop,” you call, signifying the end of your little game of pretend.

“M’right here,” he soothes, his bare hands upon you not a moment later. There’s a marked difference in the way he touches you now, a subtle tenderness that he’d forced out of his touch for the sake of play. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it until now, feeling it as if for the first time. 

He slides into bed next to you, having shed his gloves, coat and bandolier. You find the strength to slip an arm around him, clinging despite the tremble in your limbs. The next several seconds–moments, maybe hours, you can’t be sure–pass by in a haze of touch.

He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. He makes you aware of your entire body, grounding you with sweeping touches to every part of your body. It’s an intoxicating intimacy that leaves you feeling warm and drunk, still hungry for more.

 At some point Cooper gets the blanket over you, skirting his scarred fingers up and down your arm beneath it. The adrenaline crash that follows your orgasm is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, leaving you exhausted on a level beyond physical.

“Still with me?” Cooper asks after a time, fingertips tapping idle patterns on your skin as if to call you back to your body. “Mhm… Intense,” you say, the lone word slurred by your lazy tongue.

“Warned you,” he gives back, sounding nearly as ruined. His voice is deeper than usual, thoroughly frayed at the edges. It’s true, he had warned you that you were playing with fire. It’s unclear how much of that had been play, and how much was just him. Still, it had been… thrilling. Amazing. Everything you’d hoped it would be. 

“How ‘bout it, darlin’, do I scare you yet?” He asks, making it sound like an inevitability. He must believe it is.

You sigh a low hum, pretending to give the matter great thought. “Mmm… Mm-mm. Not one little bit,” you say, the words hardly legible.

“Shucks,” he says simply, feigning something like disappointment.

“Why’re you so determined to scare me off?” You ask, adjusting where your head lay on his shoulder so that you can look up at him. You’ve grown accustomed to his unique silhouette, but more than that, you’ve started to figure out what it is that makes him handsome. He’s got a wide chin and a fine jawline, and on the rare occasions you see it, a charming smile.

Much of it is in his eyes. They never fail to make your heart stutter.

“A saner question would be why you’re so determined t’stay,” he counters, those very eyes dropping to meet yours. You can’t help but smile, which–as per usual–catches him just a touch off guard.

“I got a thing for pretty men,” you say, caught up in your own musings.

His expression flattens. “Very funny,” he says, and you realize he thinks you’re mocking him.

“Hey, I mean it. I was just thinking about how handsome you are,” you say, reaching up to touch his jaw.

“There’s a specific kind’a philia for finding corpses handsome, y’know,” he says, though in his afterglow the words lack their usual sharp cynicism. They come to him more like habit than anything else.

“You’re not a corpse, Cooper,” you tell him firmly, cupping his cheek in your palm. “You don’t need to keep living like one.”

He considers you in silence for a long moment. With the back of his knuckles, he brushes your cheek. There it is again; that deep sadness that sometimes appears in his eyes when he looks at you. As if he’s mourning something.

“What?” You whisper. “Why do you–”

He kisses you, swallowing the words clean off your lips. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you, kisses you, kisses you through your meager protests until your lips move with his and you sink back down into the warmth of it. He grows progressively more relentless with it, stealing your breath until you’re forced to break away, turning your head for air.

“You can’t kiss your way out of every–”

“I know,” he interrupts you, lifting his head to level you with a hard stare. “I know, alright? But it’ll come on my terms, in my time, yeah?”

You stare, pinned by the weight in his expression. After a beat, you nod, feeling dazed by both the onslaught and his words. It’s the only time he’s acknowledged that there is something, which you suppose is progress. “Okay,” you say softly, and then again more firmly, “Okay.”

His expression softens, taking in the look of you before he kisses you again. You reciprocate, pressing into his lips with the weight of your conviction, willing him to feel how much you really do mean it. 

“Thank you for today,” you murmur, settling back down against him. “I never thought that I’d be able to… do something like that. And live,” you say, adding the last bit with a rueful smile. “I feel safe with you.”

You wait for some kind of dismissive or self-deprecating remark from him, or even a sly jab at you and your sanity, but neither come. You glance up and find him staring at you, thoughtful and–if your eyes don’t deceive you–a little sentimental.

“I don’t make promises,” he tells you, sounding resigned. “But for what it’s worth, I’d never want t’do somethin’ I thought might hurt you.”

“You’re sweet,” you say, that same sentimentality slipping into your own voice. If not a bit ominous.

“Not really,” he replies, adjusting against the bedding, his eyes falling shut. “Y’standards are just too low.”

You sigh, closing your eyes with an incredulous little smile. “Shut up.”

The two of you drift into comfortable silence, his fingers idly traipsing the contours of your body. It’s like he’s memorizing the feel of you, hyper-aware that these intimate moments together are stolen. You reciprocate, seeking out what bare skin you can with gentle brushes of your fingers. He’s never admitted as much, but you’ve long suspected he struggles with pain. He’s rarely ever unclothed, and sometimes you see him wince when he goes too long between hits of those vials.

Cooper started living on borrowed time long before he met you, but it doesn’t stop you from hoping that he might someday see something more permanent in you. With you.

In the meantime, you’ll make the most of every second.

[theresattrpgforthat]

I'm looking for TTRPGs that have... for lack of a better way of putting it, mechanics where like, your character is under a profound amount of stress, and if they don't manage it and additional stress that comes in, they'll break or snap and do something horrible and then have to deal with the consequences. So something that mechanically 'forces' your character to do something they'd normally never do due to external stressors.

THEME: Stress Clocks.

Oh this is my shit. Get ready for a Hall of Fame style of recommendations from me this week (as well as a bit of self-advertising)!

Also a note: this was (mostly) a chance for me to get very excited about a number of games that have specifically inspired me, and I am aware that it means that I’ve kind of neglected certain houses of design as a result. For this post especially, I encourage anyone who can think of a game that fits this request that isn’t listed here to give it a shout out in the reblog and the replies!

Mothership, by Tuesday Knight Games.

Mothership is a sci-fi horror roleplaying game where you and your crew try to survive in the most inhospitable environment in the universe: outer space! You'll excavate dangerous derelict spacecraft, explore strange unknown worlds, exterminate hostile alien life, and examine the horrors that encroach upon your every move.

Mothership inflicts Stress upon you with every failure, and hitting your Stress cap reduces your most relevant Stat or Save, thereby consistency reducing your chances of success with every roll. That’s not all though - your Stress cap also makes it harder and harder to stop your character from panicking, by representing the threshold you must beat every time you make a Panic Check. If you roll less than or equal to your current Stress rating, you must take on a new Panic condition.

You make Panic checks whenever you roll a critical failure, but also whenever you witness something traumatic. These conditions don’t necessarily force your character to do anything, but they represent the toll that being in a constantly hostile environment takes on your mind and body. You have to work harder and harder to prevent your character from attacking allies, giving in to the demands of whatever is haunting their psyche, or going straight-up catatonic.

You can also try to mitigate this stress and panic by resting and doing something that helps relieve the pressure - having sex, taking drugs, praying, etc. There’s even a Shore Leave mechanic for long-term games that allow your character to turn their stress into a character improvement.

In some respect, these conditions remind me of the Morality and Clarity tracks of Chronicles of Darkness and Changeling: the Lost, but with less of the errant language around mental health. The dice rolls also make the consequences much less predictable, so if you want to be surprised by what exactly causes your character to snap, I recommend Mothership.

Urban Shadows, by Magpie Games.

The streets bleed shadows as the supernatural politics of the city threaten to swallow you whole. Will you die a hero—a savior for those who have never had enough—or live long enough to become the villain? Will you fight the darkness…or give in for power?

The choice is yours. 

Urban Shadows is an urban fantasy tabletop roleplaying game in which mortals and monsters vie for control of a modern-day city, a political battleground layered just under the reality we think we know. Vampires, faeries, hunters, and wizards fight to carve out a piece of the streets and skyscrapers, ready to make deals with all those who have something to offer. 

The ‘consequences’ track for Urban Shadows is called Corruption. Each character playbook in this game has a couple of special moves called Corruption Moves, and when you start playing, you start with two Drama Moves the tie into this. The Drama Moves describe specific situations in which your character must mark Corruption. If you fill your Corruption track, you take a Corruption Move. Corruption moves give you special powers that are super-effective, but fill up your Corruption track faster. You can only fill your Corruption track so many times - fill it one too many and your character must be retired, because they’ve just become an antagonist.

I really like how this feels like a slow descent that speeds up the more you lean into it. Your character is consistently tempted to give into their darker sides in order to keep themselves afloat in this unforgiving city - but lean too far and they become exactly the kind of person they were hoping to stop.

Antiquarian Adventures, by acegiak.

Antiquarian Adventures is a pulpy tomb raiding and treasure hunting Blades In The Dark hack in the style of Tomb Raider, Indiana Jones, National Treasure, and The Mummy.

So Antiquarian Adventures is a pulp game. It’s not grim dark in any sense of the word, but I think it introduces a unique use of the Blades’ Stress mechanic in a special “ability” that happens when your character uses up all of their Composure (this is the “Stress” of this gam). Once you’ve used up all of your Composure, you cannot resist anything that comes your way and your dice pools are reduce to 0 until you do something (specific to your playbook) that usually invites a new consequence.

For example, The Veteran’s version of this is called “Not As Quick As I Used To Be,” which hamstrings the character until the player allows themself to be left behind or separated from their comrades. This kind of mechanic has directly inspired one of the projects that I’m working on, and I think that if you tweak the amount of Composure your character has, or makes the reaction harsher, you could absolutely make it work for a game that’s a bit grittier than Antiquarian Adventures.

Last Fleet, by Black Armada Games

The last of humanity are fleeing across space, pursued by the implacable inhuman adversary that destroyed their civilisation. They're outnumbered and outgunned. Supplies are running low. The actions of a brave few could be all that stands between humanity and extinction.

Welcome to the Last Fleet.

Last Fleet is a PBTA tabletop roleplaying game where you play brave pilots, officers, engineers, politicians and journalists struggling to hold the human race - and themselves - together under unbelievable pressure. The game focuses on action, intrigue and drama in this high-stakes situation. You'll fight space battles, search for enemy infiltrators, tackle supply shortages and navigate faction politics. You'll strive against your own self-doubt and sometimes crack under the stress.

Last Fleet has something called a Pressure Mechanic, which can be used as a player resource, but also activates when you take weather harm or get called out on your shit. Hit your cap? Clear your Pressure and take a Breaking Point action, which often puts you at odds with the other characters, making the situation worse. The whole situation is a designed to act as a pressure cooker, making the situation harder and harder to bear until you finally pop. I love it, and it’s also a direct influence on one of my games.

Apocalypse Keys, by Rae Nedjadi (@temporalhiccup)

Unmask your feelings, uncage your ruination… The Doomsday Clock is ticking down and emotions run high as you and your team of DIVISION agents struggle to find the Keys before the villainous Harbingers unlock the Doors of Power and bring about the apocalypse.

As an Omen class monster, you are the only thing capable of holding back the apocalypse. Combat occult threats and investigate supernatural phenomena alongside your team of supernatural agents working for the shadowy DIVISION. But in a world that shuns monsters like you, only your deepest, most heartfelt bonds can grant you the power to stop those who seek to unlock Doom’s Door.

Taking cues from Urban Shadows, Apocalypse Keys gives you a Ruin track to follow as your monsters try to stop the world from ending. The Ruin track gives you a Ruin advance every time you fill it, unlocking Ruin Moves, permanently marking character conditions, and eventually forcing your character to turn into a Harbinger if you let it. Your Ruin moves are powerful and dark, generating even more Ruin when you use them, and in some cases (like with the Hungry’s "Only Hunger Remains" move), your character can actually halt the current mystery as they get close enough to becoming a Harbinger that the entire party will have to work together to stop you from ripping the world apart.

Protect the Child, by Mint-Rabbit (that’s me!).

Humans have always been protective of their young, sometimes overly so. Humans have also always feared that which might make their young strange or different, and so insist that only humans can raise their own young. Monsters cannot raise human young. This is known.

You have a human baby. You cannot find its parents. What is even worse, is that this child has powers, powers that others covet, and so everyone wants it. If you want to prove that you’re not the heartless monster that everyone says you are, that means you’ll have to raise it, at least until you find someone who is better suited to it than you. 

You are creatures of fur, scales and fangs. You have claws that can rend flesh, faces that can crack mirrors, howls that can cause ears to bleed. 

And your charge wants a blankie.

Protect the Child is a Forged in the Dark game about monsters caring for a young human, a human who contains strange and mystical powers that make them a valuable asset in any monster crew. The setting and factions present in this game are flexible: you might be aliens in a far-flung future galaxy, fantasy monsters from rival kingdoms, or even everyday wild animals that fear human society. 

Alright, so this is my baby and I can tell you exactly how to push your character towards some really unhealthy coping mechanisms. In Protect the Child, your character is constantly battling the stress of being a parent. Stress, like in other Forged in the Dark games, is a player resource, but it’s also inflicted on you when you resist consequences, and when the kid has an emotional breakdown.

Should your stress clock fill up, you’ll have to take a reaction from the list attached to your playbook before you can take more Stress, and these reactions range from doing something for selfish gains to lashing out to your fellow monsters to being fully monstrous at exactly the worst time. Your tools to manage this stress are also limited - you have to be willing to confront your fellow monsters and be honest about your relationships with each-other if you want to stop your emotional kettle from whistling all of the time. If you want a game where building relationships is the only way to deal with the pressures of monster-parenting, then check out Protect the Child!

[theriverbeyond]

Rated E (18+) | 4.8k words

“I’m not a child, Pyrrha,” he says. Cam’s face is pulled into a scowl, and you like the way the skin between his eyes furrows. It’s different from how Cam does it, and you think it’s cute, and painfully endearing. “I’m—shit. I’m twenty-two, if you count the years post-mortem. Twenty if you don’t, and House age of majority is eighteen regardless.” “I was twenty-two long before the Resurrection, ten thousand years ago,” you reply. The eggs you’re trying to cook sizzle. “You’re too young for me, Sextus."

This fic was written for Fandom Trumps Hate 2024 (@fandomtrumpshate) as a gift to thank @beyoncesfiancee for her donation to Palestine Children's Relief Fund.

FEATURING:

Pal/Pyrrha, ft background Cam/Pal/Pyrrha dynamics!

What if we were both stuck in a body that didn't fit our gender OR necro/cav alignment.... and we were both on New Rho👉👈!

Notable Cougar Hunter Palamedes Sextus!

Psychosexual roleplaying AND bad meals!

Background Nona antics!

Wild speculation on how DIY hormones might interact with a Lyctoral Body!

The ever present shadow of grief!

[murielles-crowsnest]

It comes to my attention that I never posted this anywhere but my personal site. whoops. it can go here first because tumblr is my addictionhome. AND YES. BUMP IS THERE BECAUSE HE IS MY FAVORITE LEAVE ME ALONE. (Gus is absolutely playing as him.) [Image description: mx of digital and traditional art of characters from The Owl House. The upper half of the image is rendered in pencil with color overlays and vintage sepia tone, depicting a face-off in the Demon Realm. Eda in harpy form, Principal Bump, Lilith, Raine, King, and Hooty charge forward towards Emperor Belos, who appears in humanoid form wearing his mask. He gestures threateningly with a clawlike hand, and the shadow form of the Collector peers out from within the folds of Belos's robe, grinning. The rest of the image is rendered in full color, showing the younger characters playing a tabletop roleplaying game. Luz sits behind a DM screen, narrating, with the scene from the Demon Realm appearing in her speech bubble. Gus is cheering victoriously and Amity is smiling, speaking to Luz. She has a big stack of books and dice next to her. Hunter looks bored and has Flapjack nesting atop his head, while Willow holds her character sheet in one hand and rests a hand on her palisman Clover's back with the other. Clover is sticking her head into a bowl of doritos, and Vee is reaching across the table for the same bowl. End description.]

[loudmouthedllama]

I just got off work and got home and felt this was important to say.

UNPUBLISHED OC WRITERS I IMPLORE YOU TO STOP LIKING/COMMENTING ON PUBLISHED OC WRITERS (CANONS) STARTER CALL POSTS, MEME CALL POSTS, AND INBOX INVASION POSTS!

I SHIT YA NOT MAH LLAMAS THEY ONLY YA LIKES N SHIT FOR THE NOTES. I MEAN SERIOUSLY, WHY DO YA THINK THEY TARGETED ME ON MAH'S OWN NOTES?

CAUSE MAH LLAMAS, NOTES. MEAN. EVERYTHING. TO THEM.

[findroleplay]

Hey, looking to role play, 18+, neighbor x neighbor, age gap, fxf or fxm if you’re the male😩

I have some more ideas and I’m also open to a lot, mostly fandom less but I do enjoy

-TLOU

-Shadow hunters

-Shameless

-the walking dead

like this and I’ll find you❤️😌

-

[minnaci]

MONSTER HOUSE

contents: geto suguru x gn!reader, consensual dubcon, dom/sub dynamics (feat. sub!bottom!reader), reader is called "little thing", predator/prey roleplay, fingering (reader receiving in unspecified hole), reader experiences orgasm from penetration, heavy fear play, dumbification, light mindbreak, a bit of silly!geto in the omake

NOTE: while not explicitly depicted, geto and reader practice risk-aware consensual kink. scene negotiation took place offscreen, and dialogue was loosely scripted with equal input from both reader and geto. reader's initial hesitance and fear is a planned part of their scene, but tagged dubcon since the planning is not shown on-screen. their safeword is "safeword".

there's something tantalizing about being a little scared. just a little, just for play. you know suguru would never hurt you. but god, he's hunting you, haunting you, and your body thrums with delicious anticipation at every stray thump or bump.

the floorboards creak as you approach a long, darkened hallway, burdened by the weight of gazes unseen. your breath quickens, but the shadows continue to lurk— watching, waiting. just the wind, it seems. something scatters across the floor. your heart jumps into your throat. you're stuck there in limbo, on the edge of some tall, tall cliff, and you're not ready to fall. perhaps you should make a tactical retreat.

you take one step back, then two, then—

you collide with something warm and solid, and every nerve in your body screams run! run! run! but you're frozen— a deer in headlights, feet glued to the floor. by the time you convince your feet to take a step, it’s too late— strong arms cage you against a firm chest. cold dread drips down your spine. had he really been so close to you, watching you, and you hadn't even noticed?

warm breath ghosts against the shell of your ear. "found you."

"please don't hurt me," you whimper, playing into your role for the night. arousal hits you like a truck, and a sudden gush of slick wets your thighs. despite yourself, you go pliant in their grasp. you can't help it— not when it's your hunter, your lover, your suguru. he chuffs a soft chuckle at your immediate submission, rewarding you with a soft kiss before slipping back into his persona.

"hurt you?" his hands roam over your body, pausing at the dampness between your legs. "oh, dear, is that what they've told you about me?"

"they say a monster lives here. and— and people have heard strange sounds coming from this place after dark.“

geto laughs out loud— a real one. it’s a break from character, but you guess you deserve it. the past three noise complaints you've received from the neighbors have all been your fault.

"mmm, is that so? yet, you still chose to come in. what a brave little thing i’ve found." he laves a hot, messy kiss over your throbbing pulse point. your knees turn to jelly. "surely you're not so naive to think that all ‘strange sounds‘ are only caused by pain?“

"what are you talking about—? wait, no, you don’t mean—"

"oh, but i do. i do hunt down pretty things who enter my domain, but i don't hurt them. that's too barbaric for my tastes." his hand sneaks beneath your waistband, teasing. his voice lowers, caressing your ears like crushed velvet. "no, what i like to do is play with my toys. overload them with pleasure. make them feel so good that they break."

geto flips you around, and you see his face for the first time tonight. something dark edges his expression— blood on a knife, poison in a cup— and it sets you ablaze. your poor, dripping hole clenches around nothing. "doesn't that sound... fun, little thing?"

"you’re scaring me," you whimper. a small part of you really means it. you always forget how good geto is at playing monster. his gaze is so dark, so predatory, that it nearly makes you forget that he’s only playing. a much larger part of you preens at the intensity of his attention. you spread your legs, giving him more access to your weakest, sweetest spots. fuck, you feel pathetic. you feel good. "i— i’m scared, i’m so scared—"

geto takes full advantage of your new position, immediately zoning in on the sensitive places that he knows will make your brain shut down. every move he makes is so perfectly terrifying, all sharp teeth waiting to devour you and thick fingers working to milk pleasure from your greedy body. he leans in close, watching with satisfaction as your eyes cross and your lips part. he plays with you, exploiting your weak spots and riling you up until you're practically convulsing with the need to cum before he finally, finally brushes his lips against yours.

"your fear tastes so good," he moans into your mouth, rich and smooth as chocolate. "you won't be scared for long, though. i've got you all figured out. in fact... yeah, there it is. you'll never have to be scared again. just relax, little thing. let me turn that brain right off…"

geto crooks his fingers, nudging against a rough, exquisitely sensitive spot, and sure enough, your mind turns to mush, leaving you soft and vulnerable. you melt against him, focus narrowing to the slick, filthy drag of his fingers inside of you. he’s got that smile slashed across his face— the vicious one he puts on when he knows he’s won.

he always wins, with you. and you love it. your body was made to lose to him.

“suguru, suguru, cumming—” the heat inside of you snaps all at once, and you’re flung headfirst into a sea of sensation. its waves batter your consciousness, tearing you apart and molding you to geto’s clever, unyielding fingers. your pleasure-addled mind scrambles at lucidity, but it slips through grasp like sand. all you can do is feel, and you drown in the addictive high.

“there we go,” he purrs, eyes glued to the way you cream around his fingers. he sends you soaring with pain and pleasure, makes you brainless with delicious overstimulation. he might be playing a monster, but the power he holds over you is nothing short of godly. but they’re the same, aren’t they? gods and monsters, two sides of the same coin. “let it all out. you’re going to give me more, aren’t you? you’ll give me everything.”

you nod, eyes wide and worshipful. he raises his slick-covered fingers to his lips, tasting your pleasure for himself. any lingering resistance dissolves into wretched, mindless desire, and you let yourself be devoured.

—

OMAKE

"baby, you know i love you, but your motive doesn't make any sense. why would you choose to explore this allegedly monster-infested house?" geto is a comforting weight at your back as you lounge in your bed, poring over the first draft of your scene's script.

"because you're sexy," you say without missing a beat.

"yeah, i am, but you wouldn't know that. not when you're in character."

you crane your neck to stare at him. he's being dead serious. suddenly, you feel a surge of affection for him so strong it makes you want to squeeze him until his head pops off. "i love you so much."

"i love you more," he says, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. "but seriously. we need to figure out your character's motivation before we play. otherwise, i won't be able to make sense of the plot."

"the plot? why are we talking about plot all of a sudden? didn't we agree to make this like a scene from that hentai you like— wait a minute. does this mean— do you watch hentai for the plot?"

"..."

"suguru."

"no comment."

networks: @enchantedforest-network @angelshub

[lanabenikosdoormat]

JED MASTERPOST

Fast on his feet with an even sharper mind, Jed worked as a cipher agent for the Galactic Empire. Under the alias Cipher Nine - he was a prodigal secret weapon for the Empire's goals. As time passed, so did the stakes. When Imperial Intelligence disbanded, Jed found himself pursuing more independent ventures, outsourcing his work to broader horizons. He garnered quite a lofty reputation.

Through his extraordinary acts, Jed rose through the ranks, becoming a leading figure in the war that later broke out between the two superpowers. He would eventually become known as the Outlander and later, The Alliance Commander and serves as my main OC, not just for SWTOR - but my artist career as a whole.

MOST OF THIS IS PULLED DIRECTLY FROM HIS TOYHOUSE, WHICH CAN BE FOUND BELOW AND IS MORE COMPREHESIVE

BIO BELOW THE CUT!

Overview:

Full Name: Jedidiah Solaris

Alias: Cipher Nine, Commander Solaris, The Outlander, "The Ginger" (belovingly by friends)

Age: 35 around Onslaught

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay, Biromantic

Mental Conditions: OCD, PTSD

Birthday: March 20th, 11 BTC

Birthplace: Sacorria,  Corellian Sector

Species/Race: Human - Augmented with cybernetics

Occupation: Alliance Commander

Status: Engaged (Theron Shan)

-

Design:

Height: 6'0

Weight: 168 lbs

Body Type: Athletic, inverted triangle

Eye Color: Medium Brown (right eye is a prosthetic and is red)

Cybernetics: Mostly internal but there are two peaking out from the side of his head, just above the top of his ears.

Features: High cheekbones, scar through right eyebrow, clean shaven, well groomed, handsome. Personal hygiene is a high priority.

Markings: Various scars, faint freckles in summer seasons, bruised knuckles

-

Relationships:

Family: Deceased. KIA on Sacorria during the skirmish.

Love Interests: Hunter ✞ (Enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits type situationship), Theron Shan (Fiancé)

Friends/Allies: Closest friend is Lana Beniko. Additionally close with various others including Vector Hyllus, Koth Vortena, Arcann Tiral and the Them Group (OC group consisting of four of my irl friends ocs and my own sith warrior as follows: Verity Dante, Exxus Gun, LIX, and Obi-Two)

-

Personality:

He is both practical and visionary as well as a staunch realist. He is imaginative and eloquent, able to problem solve and get himself and his team out of tight situations.

As a leader, he is disciplined and thorough, leaving no stone unturned. Jed is strongly independent and is opposed to authority that he doesn't respect.

-

Background (pre-imp agent campaign and expacs):

As a young child, Jedidiah came from a tiny community of modest agriculturalists. For the first seven years of his life, he lived fair off. However, war struck and their little slice of the galaxy was caught in the crossfire. Jed was struck by blaster fire, directly in his right side of his skull. The wound was lethal and desperately his mother took a final stand to carry him to the Imperial outpost stationed on the planet. Because of his late uncle's contributions to the Empire, Jed was able to be taken into Imperial custody on one condition: he was never to return home again.

For the next 12 or so years, Jed was stationed on Ziost and Dromound Kaas interchangeably as he completed his initiation and mandatory military training. His superiors noticed he had a natural affinity for sneaking around in the shadows, as well as persuasion and ruthlessness. As such, at the age of just 14, he was transferred to the Imperial Intelligence division where he would begin training as an agent of the Empire.

-

Other Information:

Likes:

Killing Time

Sharpshooting

Revenge

Physical Touch

Dislikes:

Sucking Up

Unwarranted violence

The Sith

Helplessness

Hobbies:

Dejarik

Target Practice

Reading

Binge watching holo-dramas

Gambling

Social Drinking

Habits: Finger flexing, Pacing

Trivia:

He is ambidextrous, and uses a variety of different weapons depending on the given scenario.

Jed is excellent with kids and animals, he gets very soft and sweet and knows just what to say to them, especially in times of distress.

His favorite color used to be navy, and he'd wear it a lot in his downtime. However, these days its the red color of Theron's jacket as seeing it always reminds Jed of him.