One more time🎶 (Plot focused writers wanted)

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Alright, so I've found that a good number of the games I've brainstormed, and worked out decent characters for, perhaps even Intros, have met significantly unfair early ends to the games. So, I'm gathering rough ideas/synopsis of plot brainstorms, and perhaps my Intro for said plot storms, here. Any idea listed will be welcome to be changed, revamped, worked out, but it gives a good leggy part to start. Any questions, shoot me a PM.

My On and Off's are severely out of date, like...bad. Least that be said, if it fits with the plot of the game, I'm pretty close to anything goes. I don't favor Non-con, unlaess its integral to story, and I do not do straight smut based games. Plot to Smut ratio is quite 90/10, sex can and will happen, but I'm here for the stories folks.

Partner genders don't specifically matter, writing does, I can get verbose, but I can also adjust to my partners level of writing, though i usually push several paragraphs. I prefer MxF with playing either role, or FxF, MxM I've done and don't mind, but haven't done as frequently.

Alright, that being said, I'll hash out as many details as I can, some of these will be old plots that I'd love to take another swing at. Please contact me via PM to keep this thread tidy, thank you!

Please don't be intimidated by these intros, some of them are massive, because I'd gone on crazy brain storm and really got into them. My posts tend to reflect generally what my partner can write, but often between the 1000-1500 word count, unless we have multiple characters running. I do not have a post requirement, but I do prefer something of substance to sink into.

Update I am loosening my usual smut ratio rules for the game Soulless specifically, its inherently more NSFW than most of my ideas and will be focusing on those sorts of themes much more throughout.

Soft desire scale below, just for reference.



Cyberpunk Game
Sci-fi, MxF FxF, Adventure, Romance, Mystery

Description

   Alright, so I binged through Cyberpunk Edgerunners on Netflix over two days, and it revitalized my every fricking love of Cyberpunk 2077’s world, dynamic, and everything like that. That and the absolutely heart wrenching arc of the anime has me pining to write really, really bad in the universe. That said, I don’t require anyone to have watched the show, or played the game necessarily, but there are going to be strong elements from that world/theme/shit that would massively benefit from having done one, the other, or both. I’m willing to talk about these, and work them out with someone unfamiliar with the material, but having an interest in Sci-fi is well, completely and utterly necessary.

In a quite brief summary of what’s bouncing around in my meat wagon up here, one of the Rogue AI’s in the old net, has breached Blackwall, perhaps only partially, or they were a smaller AI, and they are both hiding from Blackwall and Netwatch, while wreaking havoc in Cyberspace. That havoc of course is affecting the world more than just some shut down systems and crap. Netrunners, instead of being fried by this AI, are getting hijacked, like a virus, turning them into zombie Cyberpsycho’s and carrying out a as of yet unknown agenda against the human population of Night City.

I loved Lucy in the Anime, and Judy in the game, chicks that know how to handle themselves is my thing. I think I’d prefer to do a FxF story for this game, I played V as a girl in 2077, and may be a little biased, but that’s open for discussion further. I want fun/crazy jobs, while figuring out the root of the problem, how it effects our characters lives personally, cause nobody does nothing for the greater good in Night City. And what they are going to do to be able to stop it.

Soulless❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Modern, Extreme, Triggering themes, FxF or FxM

Unlike most of my games, which are placed squarely in the Plot 90/10 Smut ratio, this game is expected to be more heavily NSFW, with violence, sex, and abuse themes throughout the game. I’m stepping out of my wheelhouse a little bit. As for who is playing against my destitute dove, well that could be a friend, a john, a pimp, a therapist, a family member. I’m open, but this game is not going to be butterflies and tickle fights, its meant to push my usual trend of smut minimal plot heavy to the side and really write something different. Please PM me to discuss!

Intro in approved Area NSFW

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Ideas I’m not currently seeking, but could still be fun to read!

What are you doing here?
Modern/Fantasy, FxF, Romance, Could be dark

Description

To Serve and Protect
MxF, Fantasy, Medieval

Ok, from re-reading some on this ones game, my character was a prince who severely pissed off the King and other nobles and got busted into peon rank of the royal guard. Bad enough, but he gets partnered with a scrawny guy trying to make good of himself in the guard as well and their friendship grows. Scrawny guy, is actually capable girl who wants to learn to fight and serve, and was not expecting to get put in close quarters with her future king. Obviously women being knightly is taboo in this one.

Intro

Slumping against one of the walls he let himself sink against it and finally sat down on the floor. While normally it wasn't exactly sightly for a Prince to be settled against the floor looking ragged, he knew that this was one time he wanted anything except the title of prince attached to his name. Crowned Prince Eirks Tirion Levaughn, was anything but happy to be in the position that he was in today, just remembering his fathers words, the King, made him cringe slightly on the inside as he shifted himself slightly against the wall, causing something of a wince. As if the welts on his back were not enough to remind him, everything that happened kept replaying over in his head again, and digging not only the shame in, but the sheer humiliation he had to face.

It had been an accident of course, he'd not been informed of the delegation of neighboring nobles until already well into the evening. An evening after one of his regular hunts, which he had scored himself a fine boar. That sort of evening, came with a few pints of ale with the others he took hunting with him. Only it usually never stopped at simply a few pints, and ended up a little bit overboard, even on the simplest of nights, but scoring the boar as he had, he'd gone even further into the drink and celebration than he was normally known for. It was then that the messenger had come, with the King's summons to dine with the neighboring nobles and his Father, with his friends. Unfortunately, the servant had not been wise enough to notice how drunk he had been, and keep the summons from him, and even worse, he'd been too drunk to see the stupidity of actually accepting them, and off he stumbled to make a complete fool of himself in front of every important figure in the castle.

If that had been it, then he wouldn't have been wincing the way he was when he shifted his shoulders at all. No, after making a complete ass of himself, he was told, and insulting nearly every person attending the dinner, including his parents, he had made another mistake that had put the sting into his flesh upon his sobriety. As it turned out, taking to the sheets with a high nobles maiden daughter, after openly insulting him thoroughly at dinner, was enough to get even a Prince a good number of lashings. The girls Father had wanted it to be a public lashing, but his own had insisted that was going too far, but he had been put up with a bare back to receive several sharp cuts of a whip before every person whom had attended that dinner. As well as the maiden he had bedded that very night before, all while of course, quite sober, with a pounding hangover.

Perhaps if that has been the end of his punishment, he could have hidden away and let things smooth over. But that was just the show for the nobles he had insulted, it was after that, that really dug deeply. His Father had been furious still, even after the cuts on his back had been cleaned and bandaged he laid into him with words as sharp, or worse, than any of the lashes he had received. He had humiliated his family for the last time, he would learn to be a proper Prince, or he would serve his family in a way that would save face for them, rather than smearing it into the mud.

"The Raven Guard..." He muttered sourly, with nothing but the taste of weak tea on his tongue, every servant in the castle had express orders not to let the taste of wine, ale, or spirit touch his tongue with the threat of lashings to firm it in their minds. Serving in his Father's guard, wouldn't be as bad a punishment, if he was not being forced to earn his way to a proper rank for a Prince. No, he was not the Prince here, just like he wished really, it had been announced amongst the soldiers, which of course meant the whole city would know soon enough, that he would be earning his keep as one of the soldiering men. Whilst he wore Raven's black, he was not to be considered the Prince, he was to own no more titles then the freshest recruit, and he was to be treated as such, until he earned the respect a Prince deserved, through training, and achieving his rank among the guard.

It was not as if he did not know how to fight, he had been trained in fighting as any Prince would be, but never to the level upon which the Raven Guard demanded it's recruits be. They were taught to fight to the death, with every weapon known, down to using ones hands and feet to defend the King and his family to the bare end. Which meant he even with experience, was far behind some of even the newest recruits, whom mostly come from other positions of guards.

What was worse though, was that every one of the soldiers, especially those of higher rank, had taken to the King's words as if he were god himself. They looked on him as if he was nothing more then a simple peasant, rather than their future king. Already he had been sent to clean armor, polish boots, muck out stalls, and to run around the courtyard until he could barely stand. That was before training even had started, it was some of the higher ranking Guards getting back at him for some stupid thing he had done here or there in the past, perhaps it was the only reason they were letting him sit even then, the fact that getting up and walking seemed a nigh impossible task.

Hanging his head he took a deep breath, trying to get the feeling in his legs back again, his dark mid length hair hanging in his face, wet with the sweat he'd already worked up this morning. Though when he lifted his head, the grey eyes that fit his face were hard, determined, he knew as much as he hated this, part of him knew he deserved it some. He had gone too far, and he would prove himself...even if just so he could pay back each guard who had made him clean their armor four times before accepting it was done right. Glancing over, he groaned lightly, the other recruits were finally starting to arrive, and he knew that mean he would have to get up.

A hand lifted up to rub across his face, the hard line of his jaw, and cheekbones, covered with a shadow of beard, adding to the dark cast of his hair, and countered only by the lightness of his grey eyes. Letting those fingers up through his hair he pushed it out of his face and grit his teeth as he used his other hand to push himself up. His muscles aching and screaming in protest as he did so. As a man, and a prince he was fit, broad shoulder, and lean, his muscles toned but not over bearing, he had exercised, and hunted as he grew up, and had never taken to eating to much, it was the drink that had been his problem. But the demands placed on his body now, were not that of a simple soldier, or a guard, it was the Raven guard, and more so, it was revenge of those bastards who he had apparently wronged.

Seeing the recruit commander stepping into the yard he grit his teeth harder and moved forward, wearing the same clothes as many of the recruits already had, those whom had come earlier, while others still wore other uniforms, or whatever they owned before, since they would not own them on the next day. A black shirt fit to his form, with half sleeves, gripping and showing that tone his body carried, a thick leather belt, black, holding onto slacks that gripped his body, and left no room for looseness that would hamper movement. And finally heavy black boots, weighted, to force a recruit to train even in simple walking. It was standard issue, and not a speck of his own differed from another. He hated it.

"Stand in line!"

An Open Future
FxF, Apocalyptic, Sci-fi

From what I remember of this game, my character was either a slave, or an experiment, that had managed to escape from one of the remaining jeweled cities, in the wastelands of the future. She was just starting on the run, and could presumably encounter anyone, so this is pretty open. Its an older idea, and would need some brainstorming.

Intro

Freedom, the taste was as bitter as it was sweet, because she knew that the chance of it remaining within her grasp was slim. A slim chance at hope, the barest glimmer in the worst of nightmares, the ones that seemed to tell her she had a chance, and then stripped it away painfully and repeatedly, beating her back into submission. It was a submission she would not, could not, endure any longer, it was crushing not only any chance of hope, but any chance of her soul surviving any longer. Making her move had been her only option, an option she did not savor or congratulate herself on, did not pride herself on, for what she did had hurt people, she had taken away their safety in exchange for her own, taken away their freedom and made it her own, but the cost, the cost was not too great, the loss was...affordable.

Passing through the shadows she moved her lithe form carefully as she could, panting even as she did so, the air she captured barely filling her lungs before she gasped for another breath. Her entire body ached, from the heels of her unshod feet, to the tops of her shoulders. Battered, as if beaten to the edge of her existence, she felt weak, and her muscles primed to protest every movement. Pain induced haze from the natural chemicals in dominance of her body, warning her nervous system and brain of the damage she was doing to herself in her continued struggle at existence. She ignored it, the pain building in every muscle, joint, and bone, they were pale comparisons to the suffering she knew she would endure if she was captured, and the sounds of pursuit were not soft on the air.

The lifted barks and howls of dogs, she knew they followed her scent, something she could not stifle any more easy then the beads of sweat that prickled her skin. Worse, she knew, was the blood the dribbled the ground from cuts across her bare soles, but while hiding her scent was impossible, running quicker was not. Despite the pain she moved, pushing down another alley, away from abandoned trash receptacles and littered pieces of what once were cars lining streets that were as abandoned as not. She was in a particular place, one of the no tred zones, a barrier of emptiness and death that tolled out the level of classes between those rich and well off, and everyone else. A fence with no chains, boards, or jolts, the surrounding streets of emptiness spoke for themselves the effectiveness. Nobody wanted to live so close to the shining light, when darkness only filled their lives.

A misplaced step set her heel in what appeared to the naked eye to be a puddle, but in the darkness water often resembled oil, and vice versa, the friction she expected was absent and it sent her foot forward and her body back, her equilibrium flailing as her back hit the ground and the back of her head smacked against the asphalt she'd been racing across. It made a groan sound past her lips before she could stop it, turning over almost immediately, stomach heaving violently, her entire body protesting her moving, while her mind, despite her vision blurred and ears ringing, forced her on, back up onto her knees.

The oil, likely a failure of one of the many vehicles which had not seen proper care for the light of years, slicked her feet and her legs, smearing into the torn and dirty blue cotton pants she wore, they had been simple, and clearly not made for the use she put them to.  For a moment she recoiled from the puddle of oil, trying to hold her stomach and settled her spinning head, before the cogs clicked and turned and she moved closer to the spilled onyx liquid.

Pushing her hands into it she lifted it immediately smearing the oil against the white of her shirt, fit close to her body, before over her arms more, and up against her face, smearing the black foul smelling oil across her dusky skin and up into her cropped messy locks. She painted herself, not for war, but for safety, her scent would be muffled, even the blood from her feet tainted by the black lacquer that had sent her spinning.  When her slim, yet tall form was coated in the inky substance, only then did she get up, moving slower now, walking more carefully knowing how slippery her feet were from the slick oil.

Breathing through her nose, despite the smell, she took deeper breaths, trying to slow her pounding heart as she crept through the night. It had been a good night to make her escape, the clouds were low, and made a fog around the barren city parts, the lights of civilization were still a ways off, and created the faintest brighter haze among the low hanging clouds and drifting fog. The chill on the air was startling still against the heat of her skin, burning from the exertion of running, she was just starting to feel the cold now, wet from the oil, and moving slower so her body was not burning of it's own fuel so fast. A shiver traced through her, before she could duck down into one of the large water run off tunnels, she would wait, and hope the oil threw the dogs off enough. Then she would clean up, if there was enough water lower in, to get the oil off of her.

Taking the time to pause, to lower herself into a crouch and settle her back into the wall slightly she shivered again, body protesting the cold as much as it had the movement. Her limbs cramping uncomfortably from their tiredness. She stole a slow breath, taking in a shaky deeper breath as she focused, listening careful. Her beautiful jeweled eyes alert and turned back the way she had come, looking through the sliver of sight line that the remnants she had worked her way around left her, carefully watching to see the pursuit in the night. The dogs she could fool, the drones.. if they found her, shaking them would be next to impossible, she would have to find something, a crowbar from a car maybe, if she could get a trunk open, and find one, it may be solid enough to inflict the damage necessary to disable one of the drones.

"I will not be taken again.." The words almost sounded as if they came from another's lips in the cold dark tunnel, whispered in desperation and self assurance. She would rather die, then be captured..

Love Is Blind

Description

M/FxF, Fantasy, Medieval, Romancey

A knight was called home from the front, a loyal talented Knight, that the King suddenly wanted to put in charge of protecting his blind daughter. Forbidden romance eventually ensues, once his contempt at being wasted falls away. Very open to changes and re-figuring.

Intro

Emerick turned the letter over with a slight frown to his features, it tugging at his lips and drawing it into the familiar scowl that seemed to settle rightly upon his face more often then not. He received many letters, most of them carrying word and request of his services, of his sword to defend one party or another, to route out brigands and bandits whom had taken up along certain roads. Be they many different tasks and duties, they all called for his sword and cunning because he was a man whom had lived through fights, won them, and came home with the fewest loses whenever he had to go into a right out battle with an enemy. It had garnered him a name for himself, that when someone needed a strong sword, honest, and whom will get what needs taken care of done, that a letter was a way to find him. And yet... it had been a very long while since one such letter had come to him bearing the royal seal embossed on the paper, and further on the wax seal beneath the signature of the king, likely the kings scribe in fact, but the weight of the writ carried an importance he had not taken too in some time.

It was not that he was surprised that the Royal family knew of him, or even that they would call on his services, he had served for a time in the royal army, a strong loyal soldier who served and shed blood for his country and King in many battles. But what surprised him was that the King was now calling on him, as a sell sword, a mercenary, to come and serve for another purpose to him. It was...unusual to say the least, a man whom would have many men to call forth, sending after him specific spoke of something more significant, but unfortunately the letter was not quite as specific as he would have liked it to be...

Dear Emerick of Harsworth
It has been noted, that in your service to the King, and his Royal Family, many honors have been do to you, earned in battle, with sword, strength, and loyalty. Today, your King has another task for which a service of a man in such standing is needed, and he calls upon you, to serve your duty as a loyal citizen of his fine country. Upon your quickest horse, return to the city, and attend upon the King when you receive this letter.
...Of course, your time shall be..well compensated...
In the name of the King, and Reigning Royal family.

The letter was finished with the scribes handwriting scrawling out the King's name upon the letter, but it also bore his seal pressed into it, to prove that it was not a forgery, a hawk crossed with a sword. Had it not he'd likely have simply tossed the preposterous piece of paper into the fire and gone about his life as he would have. As it stood though, it was clear. The letter was a request, and a order in many ways, and he knew if he did not respond to it in kind by riding to the city and attending the King, that the next letter could be delivered by guards, with irons for his wrists readied.

Laying the paper aside he stood up from the small desk that took up a corner of the room he stayed in, another corner taken by a bed, with a fine feather mattress, one of his rare indulgences. Other then a mirror hanging to one wall, and the iron wood stove in another corner, and finally a heavy bound chest at the foot of his bed, there was nothing more in the room that he currently called home. The glance around the room examining his meager possesions and position in the room ended with the reflective surface of the mirror in front of him reflecting his own face.

It was another oddity about him, his age, a man of thirty and five years, he had outlived many whom would stand in the same line of work beside him. Battle after battle winnowed the numbers down quickly, and a older man did not survive long the work of facing a blade and battle from day to day. And even he whom was renowned for his luck and skill did not go unscathed, from his high right cheek bone, drawn back almost to his ear was a old scar that decorated his face, turning the once handsome strong lines of his face, into something more grizzly. He was still not a ugly man, the grey of his eyes hard and serious, stony eyed at times, but alive and alert. Those cheeks bones strong and high, tapering down into a fitting chin, both currently boasting a stubble of several days without the razor. Turning slightly he looked at himself crosswise, noting how it made him look slightly younger, his face still not completely chiseled of stone which it appeared to be with the weight of his eyes added to everything else, it helped that his shoulders were still strong and fit, his back not slouched he was lean, from his work, and good breeding, his body that of a young man still many would say.

Giving a slight scratch at the stubble on his cheek he finally looked away from the mirror entirely giving a faint growl at himself for getting distracted with his own reflection. Losing it Emerick, get caught looking at yourself in a shield next time, and end up with a blade in your belly. Chiding himself he moved to unlock the chest and start preparing the few of his belongings he kept with him, mostly his armor and sword, as well as other pack items. It would take him a day or so to reach the city, and he knew that the letter had likely been waiting at the Inn here for him for several days, if not almost the full two weeks he was out on his last job. No, the King would want him soon, or those guards would be hounding after him as is...

Apparatus ❤❤
M/FxF, Sci-Fi

This one my character was a robot, in an age of robots, only he was a extremely advanced. His systems and his AI made him seem nearly human. Which of course, made him strictly illegal, as robotic laws were not in place in his routines. This one is very open, I don't actually recall the plot entirely. So very flexible.

Intro

Perhaps it was some hidden subroutine, something built into the very basic nature of the very advanced robot, but something triggered at the specific tone, and anxiety in the voice that was close to it. A sensor that read into it the panic, and hysteria related to something being extremely wrong, and sent off a warning throughout the rest of the circuitry, making the artificial synapses that were the positronic brain start to fire again, when they had otherwise been shut down, leaving it in a undefinable state of coma. That was changing though, as electricity fired through it's body, as it's brain booted itself up, the rest of its bodies mechanics were coming on-line simultaneously. What that meant of course, was while the brain, by far the most complicated circuitry was still firing up, the rest of the joints, and artificial muscles were way ahead of it, making the previously limb, cold body start to twitch, and seize, spasming soundlessly it did a full systems check necessary after a hard shut down it had experienced last.

What possibly could be more frightening then finding a dead body, then having one seize suddenly after every indication had shown that moments before it had been nothing but cold meat ready to be placed into recycling, who knew. But as quickly as the seizing had started, lasting not even half of a minute, it stopped just as suddenly, as the brain circuit finally kicked fully on it could once again control all the separate systems that made up is entire body network. It looked as if the formerly stiff cold body, which had been spasming relaxed finally, sinking into the laying position it had been occupying with a more humanoid set to it, something that would certainly be found strange upon the next discovery of course.

It opened it's eyes, lids flicking up, and its pupils seeking immediately, while it's irises rotated slowly, six sections in each circling the iris rotated and shifted the lens of the robotic eye, tightening its dilation before relaxing it to adjust to the darker night. Those segments, though strangely enough seemed to fade as the robot, which it clearly had to be, adapted to the source lighting and the once mechanical blue iris settled into a softer grey color, looking as natural as a human eye. Most humanoid robots had certain characteristics intentionally left looking mechanical, to help anyone who could not realize it otherwise, to know that the thing before them was simply that, a thing, a motorized being with no capacity to do anything other then serve in the most basic of ways. The eyes, often, was that point on advanced androids, ones that seemed so human it was too easy to mistake, and yet, it had clearly been adapted with a set that could help continue to disguise him.

Suddenly he sat up, a look of pure shock crossing the previously emotionless face before the eyes clenched shut and his lips parted, a slow groan escaping in almost a hiss as he brought his arms around his torso, hugging himself it seemed. The sensory portions, of its system, were kicking themselves to life, and simulating human experience, meant that his entire body suddenly hurt, the systems catching up and reciting the impacts that it sustained being dropped from the salvage crane and communicating it to its brain. Still clutching its abdomen, he bent over more trying to stifle the painful experience the once so important panicking human almost forgotten due to the overwhelming priority his sensory systems taxed on his brain.

"What... what happened, Alexander..?" The voice, like his eyes started with the mechanical sharp tone of a machine, but even with the few words spoken it re-calibrate itself, and by the time he spoke the name, his voice held a deeper masculine voice, steady and rhythmic, it sounded every bit a steady human voice. "Where am I, what..." Opening his eyes they sought out again, scanning, and processing the location quicker then a human would his lips shut, realizing quite clearly that Alexander, whoever he might be, was not there, and that he was not in the last place he remembered being. His eyes dipped down noticing that he was wearing plain unassuming black pants, and lacking any form of shoes, his bared feet scraped and scratched, the replicated polymer flesh damaged, likely from the fall. Taking a moment to observe himself further, his shirt fitting over his chest, was grey, and had small tears in it, that reflected in his skin beneath. While the artificial pain had not stopped, it's priority had been dropped, and was much easier to ignore, letting him assess the situation.

That was of course when his sweeping gaze settled on the woman. "Who are you?" It was certainly not the usual prompting question a robot would ask a human, which would normally suffice of asking for a command, or inquiring to service a need. Instead, he demanded an answer of his own, those grey eyes critical, and the muscles in his face moving to give him the expression of caution, of distrust, a entirely alien expression for a robot. It did not help the expression any, that a cut along his temple, almost covered by locks of brown hair hair, had begun to bleed, though it was not the dark ruby color of human blood, but a softer, blue color, and in truth, it was not bleeding, but repairing, the substance was a nanite solution, produced to repair damages to his artificial flesh in the way that clotting blood would, only...better.

Dragon Tamer
Fantasy, MxF, Romance-possible, Could be extreme

Alright, this one is around the idea of Dragons being hunted and slowly driven extinct in the world. A dragon with only the desire to survive, and possibly continue his species on, is forced to adopt a human form as cover when he is discovered and shot out of the air. This could be a hunter vs. hunted game, the purposes of the huntress being various things, using dragon parts for cures, magic, power. It'll be a game of maintaining his cover, and pretending he isn't who he is. Dragons taking a human shape would not be thought possible, which helps his odds at remaining undiscovered, but for how long?

Intro

   Tenja soared. With great wings unfurled to their fullest, he carved his way through the skies, slicing through the thick moist clouds that blanketed one end of the horizon to the other. His eyes for the moment, blended by their dense concentration, the moisture cool and slick on his scales as he let his powerful wings catch the fierce currents of air. Tilting he cut through the swirling shifting massive sea of collected nimbus, completely hidden within the folds pillows of damp grayness. Days of storms were the greatest relief one such as him could ever know, time when he could take to the sky like the days of old, free to soar and sweep powerfully through the stretches, little care to his mind, to his heart, of the troubles the world below could bring upon him where the day different. He angled himself and turned downward, sweeping back down through the closeness of the clouds, till it seemed like he would dive out of them and back into the clear expanse of skies beneath the blanket, but he angled his wings again, and pulled out of the dive, arcing upward instead and sweeping back thorough the agitated clouds.
   
   The grey density of the clouds was darkness until his upward arc neared the upper layer of clouds, and then broke through, the clouds brightening from near darkness, to thick rainy grey, to white, and finally breaking completely apart as his body broke free of the clouds into bright brilliant sunshine. Giving his wings a powerful beat, he rose higher, fighting the gravity that pulled on his great body, and rising above the dense cover of clouds beneath him. A endless rolling sea of grey and white, swirling, mixing, bubbling with the careless strokes of wind making some rise, and fall like geysers in to the upper clear skies. He used those torrents of wind, catching them within the arches of his wings to keep himself aloft so high without having to continually beat his wings. Gliding on the uplifting currents, his eyes lidded to near slits to prevent the brightness of the shining sun above from blinding him, he soared in peace in a world few knew and fewer still could ever enjoy in the same way that he could. Quiet, besides the gusts of strong winds, whispers of flight and where it could take him that, were all that joined him in his private utopia here above where even the clouds reigned.
   
   But as much as he took pleasure in the act of flying, of soaring here so far above the world below, he knew that his respite was something to be shortly lived. Below the churning clouds roiled and moved in ways that spoke of the wind pushing them further, and further to the west, further away from lands he chose to call his own. And with the leaving, so to left his opportunity to soar unseen by anything which walked below. For one such as him recent years, perhaps in the past hundred or so, give or take a decade or two, the inhabitants of the land had taken a keen interest in what his kind was, and what they could do. At first it had been a passing annoyance, stupid landlocked creatures seeking them out, or praying to them, begging for their mercy, or their protection. He, like many of the others, had been derisive then, dismissing those that labeled themselves humans, unable to imagine the unseen threat these small creatures could eventually grow into. Over years, those very same creatures dismissed, became not only more persistent, but more inventive. Despite how little time they lived, they were abundant, and spread like a disease on the land.
   
   How little had they known that those small creatures, in numbers, could be worse than any fierce battle between the kings on the skies. They had surprising guile, for things so small, and so fragile. The fact that they seemed to deem their own kind so invaluable that they could simply continue throwing each other at them in some sort of pursuit was shocking at first, then horrifying. Humans, it did not matter if you killed them, tore them to bits, chewed them up, swallowed them, burned them alive, or dropped them from the very skies they seemed to think belonged to them, there was always...more. More of them waiting, more of them planning, more of them plotting. Their numbers, and their greed, bred a contempt in them, that seemed to grow putrid, and uncontrollable, until their inability to own the skies, to dominate his kind, to possess them, turned to a desire to destroy them. Their means at first were paltry, pathetic things, but before long, their cleverness began to yield dangerous, and frightening results. The day the first dragon had died at the hands of a human, their kind had been shocked. The retribution had been fierce, and yet...it hadn't stemmed the tide of disaster that was to follow. Dragons being hunted, struck down from the sky by great bolts loosed from evil human ingenuity. Others being cornered in caves, which collapsed upon them from the humans efforts to loosen the very earth above them. The ways in which humans learned to hunt, to kill, dragons, made every surviving one wish they had snuffed the race out millennia ago.
   
   Now, as less and less of his kind managed to live, taking to finding new places, and ways to hide themselves, to protect themselves, the skies were hardly theirs any longer. Could they truly claim them, when taking to the skies was no longer a freedom, but a risk? When every time they took to wing, they risked the chances that a human would see them, and their stories would spread? One human, quickly became hundreds, and where hundreds of humans gathered, frightful works could be accomplished. Tenja dipped a wing, allowing his body to curve into a turning dive, and sink from the upper layer above the storm back into the depths of the clouds. He had managed to stretch his wings, something that may not come for another too long while, and it was time to return to the mountains he called home, and hid within. That decision meant risk of course, the space between the storm and the mountains was not much, but it was still enough that being sighted was a risk. He angled himself as he glided through the wettest, darkest clouds, and continued to let himself sink. Orienting himself mentally, a map of the lands he knew as much by the feel of the wind, as by sight, he remained in the clouds as long as he could on his approach to the snow capped peaks that could hide something as large as he. When he was in place, he finally allowed himself to sink out of the storm below now, into open sky between land and clouds.
   
   His angle was steep, and he tucked his wings close so that his dive propelled him quickly, the whistling of winds streaking past his great head, and against his dark scales. His brilliant green eyes were focused intensely on the familiar peaks he called home, a cavern hidden deep within ravines, chosen for their inhospitably to humans. It was that concentrated look that was his downfall this day, as he sank through the sky, as quick as he was, he did not see the contraption high on cliffs part of his home range. Perhaps because it had been painstakingly disguised with stones and wood to make it blend in. For whatever reason, he had not seen it when he ascended into the sky, and even now was unaware of it, until it was too late. An instant before it happened, he caught the sound of something slicing through the wind, something dark coming up from the ground to meet him in a shocking rush. Then it was too late as the barbed bolt tore into, and through his right wing. His jaws opened in a roar of agony as the more delicate membrane of his wings had a hole punched through it, the cross shaped bolt head slicing, and the barbs catching to tear flesh as it propelled into, and through his wing.
   
   Instantly he faltered in the air, thrown out of his dive, trying to adjust to the sudden loss of buoyancy in the air as the whole bled, and the tatters of flesh flapped painfully in the wind. How?! He couldn't, he didn't know, but did it matter? He was falling, loosing altitude quickly, and far yet from the strategic parts of the range he called home. Scrambling in the air, with the one uninjured wing trying to compensate for the failing one on the other side, he tried to slow his descent, but he had no purchase with the torn wing and he was falling out of control. The crash was massive, his great black and green body smashing into the forested mountain side and sliding, crashing through the trees, breaking as many as he ripped out of the ground, furthering tearing into wings, and scales in the process. Any further roar was cut off by his hurtling down the mountainside, his speed having been great enough to carry even his great mass far in its slide.
   
   But it was his next decision, made in panic, that could save him or ruin him. One of the ways his kind had found to survive, to hide, had been the ability to change themselves. They had learned of ways to compress themselves, to condense themselves, and force themselves into the things they hated most. Learning to change their shapes, from the magnificent creatures they were, into vile humans, had been a necessary evil for them, a means to survive. And survive was what he needed to do then, more than anything else. Even as he hit, and begun his slide, black and green scales began to fall off of him, falling away from a suddenly diminishing form. His momentum would carry, but the path of destruction would narrow quickly as his size crashing through the trees reduced immediately, until it was something the size of a human hurtling into one final massive oak tree. A resounding crack as his body smashed into the tree and then dropped to the ground in an unconscious pile.
   
   A man, of softly tan skin, lay on the ground beneath the oak, looking a if he had been stripped naked and beaten to within the last inches of his life. His human skin split in a hundred places, bruised, battered, broken, and bleeding, great wound rent open over his right shoulder, bleeding profusely. Black hair, a wild main of it, covered his face, what bruises and split skin didn't make indistinguishable already, but the eyes, already lidded, would be green, the deepest emerald green imaginable. In his crashing, he had only one thought, one hope...that he would regain consciousness, before whomever managed to find him, prepare for him, and strike him out of the sky, could reach him.

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Added Upon the Wing Above.

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Added into the fold Avoiding Fate, lots of potential there, just need the right person to hash it out with. I have room for a few games, a lot of mine are currently running slow.

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Added XiX Story. PM me if you at interested in companion reading on prompt.

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Removed Broken Covenant, Bump.

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Added new prompt, Crystal Claims.

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Major reorganizing, as well as addition of prompts Open your eyes, and Soulless.

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Got a shameless bump, I've got a recent urge to write, perhaps more on the smuttier side than my usual fair, so I'm put this all back out to attract some attention and discuss. If my usual flair for almost full focus on plot has dissuaded you previously, reach out.

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Bump.

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Added Untitled Naga Game.

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Added Cyberpunk game prompt.

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Bump

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Bumpity Bump bump.

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Added Office Work.
Added Untitled Detective Game.

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Bump

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Bumpit Bumpit.

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Bummmp

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Believe that it is time for a bump.