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Author Topic: TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)  (Read 2996 times)

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Offline TSElephantTopic starter

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TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)
« on: March 09, 2016, 04:30:53 AM »
Hey there!

Before I say anything else, I ought to thank you for taking the time to stop by. There are a ton of great writers around here, and countless other opportunities and offers. So really, I genuinely appreciate you taking a moment to at least peek at what I've got to offer.

I'll be using this thread as a way to keep track of all of the various story setups that I've concocted. If it doesn't have "(Closed)" in the title, I'm still looking for a partner, and would absolutely love to hear from you if you're interested. If you want to discuss one of my closed prompts or just want a nice chat, feel free to message me too! I'm always looking for someone new and fun to talk to. If you're really curious, I've even kept my "(Retired)" prompts, not only for my own records, but just in case anyone wanted to take a peek.

Now then, on to the goodies!





}}}={{{


Barclay's Disorder

The prompts in this collection are all set within a fictional universe of my own creation. Down below, you'll get a nice explanation of just what makes this particular setting distinct, as well as a taste of some of the "rules" that govern the world. I hope at least a few of you find this interesting!



On July 22nd, 2033, the first recorded infection of a human with the Recombinant Retrovirus (RRV) was discovered in Sydney, Australia. Manesh Chaudhary was hospitalized after collapsing in the baggage claim area of Sydney Airport due to severe dehydration and a fever of 103 degrees. After intensive treatment for his dehydration, he regained consciousness, but his fever resisted all attempts at treatment. Initially, he was coherent enough to give some personal information and identification, as well as the locations of his recent travels. He had recently made the trip from Los Angeles to Sydney, then taken a connecting flight to New Delhi to visit family. He was on his return trip when he fell ill.

Within hours of his hospitalization, his mental state deteriorated drastically. He was no longer able to form intelligible words, and became aggressive towards hospital staff. After physically assaulting a nurse, he was restrained. The next morning, doctors discovered numerous lesions distributed across his entire body. His body temperature remained at a steady 103 degrees, and his behavior had become distinctly violent.

That afternoon, a similar case was reported in Los Angeles. Later that night, yet another infection was discovered in Ahmedabad. Overnight, nearly a dozen more cases were discovered, and Mr. Chaudhary's condition only worsened. His bodily tissues were disintegrating, only to be replaced just as quickly by diseased tissue. The patient had to be isolated from the rest of the hospital due to his screaming. By the next day, various growths that had been just barely visible were sprouting into additional limbs, his fingernails were replaced with dangerous claws, and even his bone structure and musculature had mutated to the point where he only barely qualified as human.

Manesh Chaudhary passed away on the 8th of August. On the 9th, in Dallas, an infected individual with advanced stage symptoms murdered eight of the other tenants in his apartment building and three of the police officers that had been sent to the scene. He had hidden himself in his apartment during his illness, and as such, had not been under quarantine of any sort as the disease advanced. The global attitude towards the illness quickly changed from one of dread and anxiety into full-blown panic.

Due to RRV's exceptionally lengthy latency period, it was virtually impossible to detect for the first week after infection. As such, it could not be effectively quarantined. All that could be done was desperately race for a cure, and minimize the damage done by infected individuals. At he peak of the virus' proliferation, it had infected nearly 500,000,000 people. Governments the world over resorted to instating military police in order to deal with the infected. Hundreds of millions of people were killed, be it by the actions of one of the infected, the gunfire of the police, or the illness itself.

Medical science furiously studied the virus. It was determined that it operated in much the same way as any other virus; that is to say, it inserted its own genetic code into its host cell's genome, hijacking its natural processes in order to reproduce. This was no surprise. What was surprising was that, by a mechanism not entirely understood, the virus activated certain sequences of genetic code, known as introns, which would otherwise have remained dormant. Then, it increased the cell-turnover rate to unbelievable levels, forcing healthy cells to die off and be replaced by these modified cells.

This intensive research finally yielded results, and although no cure was ever found, by the year 2039, 99.8% of the population had been vaccinated against RRV. Just a few months later, there were zero reported cases. Humanity had triumphed. It would never have to suffer the effects of the Recombinant Retrovirus again.

Unfortunately, this wasn't entirely true. No one else would ever actually contract the disease, but its effects were much longer-lasting than anyone could have predicted.

In 2042, Jacob Nguyen was born in Toronto. He was horribly disfigured. The exact nature of his deformation wasn't quite understood until Dr. Richard Barclay stumbled upon the answer. As it turns out, both of his parents belonged to a very unique minority population; they were individuals who had been infected by RRV, but who were ultimately immune. Their bodies had been able to shut down and eliminate the virus before the illness could progress, but unfortunately, irreparable chromosomal damage had already been done. With a normal cell-turnover rate, this posed no problem other than a slightly increased risk of cancer. However, when both of them passed on these defective genes to their son, the results were catastrophic. What soon became known as "Barclay's Disorder" is characterized by "the expression of genetic traits which had previously been evolutionarily selected against." Various introns, those normally dormant genes, were active in those with Barclay's, and resulted in dramatic and bizarre mutations. These children could live healthy lives with some special care, but they would never be seen as 'normal.' They all possessed traits that were normally reserved for other branches of the animal kingdom. Each one expressed their faulty genes differently, so each was unique, but they all, on some level, seemed like animals.

Year: 2078

Leslie Richardson (Trans Male seeking male)

BD-Mar PtE1





Being born in a double-fucked-up-body is great.

Do you have any fucking idea how confusing and frustrating it was to be stuck in a body like mine? Like, alright... Barclay's on it's own, I could have probably dealt with just fine. Not quite so sure about the whole 'being a girl' thing though. Not that there's anything wrong with being female, just, you know... I'm not. So for the first 22 years of my life, I hated my body. Everything was wrong, and with so much shit being mixed up, it was hard to even tell what was the matter. When I finally figured it out, the realization was world-changing, and so, so liberating.

There's no amount of medical tampering that can overcome Barclay's, so it was on me to come to terms with that. The whole gender/sex mix up though, that was solvable. The hormone replacement therapy has done me wonders. It was an incredible, life-changing experience to watch and feel myself change as my voice deepened, the shape and location of fat shifted around, and muscles started to strengthen more easily. Ever since my double mastectomy, I've been able to pass.

With all that taken care of, I discovered that it was suddenly much easier to cope with Barclay's. As a woman, I'd looked at all of my abnormalities and saw someone who could never be attractive. I'm marsupial class; specifically, my primary attributes are those of an opossum. I saw a woman with a dull, gray hide, eerily hairless fingers equipped with nasty claws, a long, narrow, rodent's snout filled with janky teeth, and worst of all, a bald rat's tail. But about a year ago, something really special happened. I woke up one morning, dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, dried off, and then went to the sink to brush my teeth. When my eyes caught sight of myself in the mirror, something clicked. I paused for a moment, then stood up straight. I pushed my shoulders back. I squared my stance a bit, eyes flickering over the image before me. I turned my face to the side to look at myself in profile...

And my face broke into a grin. I couldn't help myself as I lifted up an arm and flexed, then reached up to clutch at my bicep. I sneered, then grimaced, then snarled, just trying on as many faces as I could. For the first time, I didn't feel like an ugly woman... I felt like one seriously bad-ass dude. All of those things that I'd so despised about myself were recontextualized as the features of a rough 'n' tumble bad boy. So I immediately adopted that persona. Wherever my fur was short and fine enough that one could see the skin beneath, I loaded up on tattoos. Loose jeans and white tanks took over my wardrobe. My basic personality never had to change, but as I finally found my image, my confidence in myself blossomed, and at last, I felt at home in my own body. I made it.

'Course, I'm a great example of how gender and sexuality aren't really connected. I used to think I was a straight woman. Turns out I'm a gay man. So yeah, that's kind of interesting. I mean, I'm still a virgin (bleh), but at least I know what I want. I'm headed to my first gay bar tonight, actually. Not really sure what to expect, to be honest. But at the very least, it'll be interesting.



Zach Milacek (Male seeking any)

BD-Urs PtE3





I'm a humble guy. Shy even, though I've been working on that. It's taken a hell of a lot of practice to come out of my shell. I'm getting there though, bit by bit.

Being part of a fraternity has helped. The guys of Pi Gamma Beta don't completely match up with the 'frat boy' stereotype. From what I can tell (though I'm a freshman, and haven't seen everything just yet), our focus is more on charity, networking (there are a few alumni in high places), and, well, fraternity in the traditional sense. Friendship. Brotherhood. That sort of thing. It's really nice having a group of guys that are there to support me, and it feels amazing to help out when I can. That dynamic has really helped boost my confidence. Well, there's that, and a little something else that I would never have predicted.

Just before starting with college, I was bracing myself for more of the same crap I got in high school for having Barclay's. My frat brothers really have delivered on the promise of accepting me as a part of the family though, flaws and all. They don't see me as deformed, they see me as unique; I've been made into sort of the unofficial mascot. Being seen as something... well, cool... feels good. It's a nice change. Until now, I've just gotten by by shrinking down and staying out of the way. If I didn't, I was ridiculed, mocked, and on one occasion, physically assaulted. When I told my brothers about how I was treated in school, and how I reacted, they laughed. Looking at me now, they're amazed I didn't kill someone.

At 8'4" and 436 lbs., I absolutely could have.

So Ricky, my Big (hilarious title, by the way; he obsesses over maintaining his muscular looks, carrying around a protein shake and a gallon jug of water everywhere he goes, all to compensate for the fact that he's 5'4"), has taken it upon himself to boost my confidence until it fits me. Which brings us to my current situation.

The guys decided that tonight we were headed to the local bar... Not the closest bar to campus mind you, but the nearest one that always 'forgets' to check for ID. I could pass for a few years older than I am, but here, I don't have to worry about it. In any case, we were all chatting, laughing a bit too loudly, but at some point, I caught sight of you. I couldn't help myself; I kept casting short little furtive glances your way, totally ensnared by your looks. You're just so pretty. And of course, Josh noticed. With a rough jab to my arm, rough enough to make me pull away and grimace at him as I rubbed my shoulder, he demanded that I go over and chat you up. I dismissed him, tried over and over to convince him that I wasn't that interested, that nothing would come of it, or that it wasn't a big deal. He just wouldn't let up. He was relentless. Finally, he compromised; if he beat me in a game of rock paper scissors, I'd have to go over and talk to you.

Rock. Paper. Scissors...

On shoot, he just flipped me the bird. "Great. I win. Get the fuck over there."

So here I am, rubbing the back of my neck as I make my way over to you. I naturally part the crowd like Moses did the red sea, no one wanting to stand in the way of the hulking grizzly, but all the same, my heart is hammering away in my chest. When I finally come up to you, I'm still nervously rubbing at the back of my neck, eyes turned away bashfully. "Hey. I uh..." I finally manage to drop my hand to my side and jam it into my pocket, then look you in the eyes. "Can I... Get you a drink?"



Alex Cabbot (Male seeking any)

BD-Fe/La PtE2





Living with Barclay's maybe isn't so bad as a lot of people think. I mean, the rate of depression among sufferers is way above the general population's, which is understandable; being so clearly different from the average human can make it difficult to form healthy, stable relationships of any sort. People tend to shy away from those with visible illnesses, whether or not they're transmissible. I know this all too well from personal experience. There's this... distance between me and everyone I meet. On occasion, that distance can be overcome, but it takes some effort on both sides. I've never had clinical depression, but I'm not ashamed to admit that I've sought out therapy and counseling. I'm glad that I did, too. I got a lot out of that experience.

The biggest thing that I learned in therapy is to acknowledge that, of course, I have certain struggles that I'll always have to deal with, but that in many ways, I'm also lucky. It would be silly to say that I'm glad I have Barclay's, but recognizing that it's not all bad has really helped me cope. Sure, my mere presence makes most people uncomfortable, but I'm lucky in that my particular expression type means that, every once in a while, some young, innocent child will absolutely adore me. I do sort of look like a cartoon character come to life. I may be overly lanky, and I may have bizarre proportions, but my body does provide certain positive attributes. As tall as I am, I always stand above the crowd. My hands are outlandishly huge, even for my size, but they're still surprisingly dexterous, assuming I'm not trying to fiddle with something too small. My eyes, bright green with slitted pupils, can be especially disturbing to some people, but at least I have remarkable low-light vision. My cartoonish ears were a source of much ridicule in middle and high school, but my sense of hearing is incredible. My legs are disproportionately long, and my thighs are especially thick in comparison with my slender waist, but that's just because they're so powerful.

My medical dog-tags display my abbreviated expression type: BD-Fe/La PtE2. Barclay's Disorder, Feline/Lagomorph, Phenotype Expression 2. Feline/Lagomorph.... And my last name is Cabbot. How much more perfect could that coincidence be? Cat-rabbit. I can't tell you how many people think they're being clever and original when they give me the nickname 'Cabbit.' I hated that name as a kid, but I've learned to just accept it. Now that I'm more mature, I can see that it actually is kind of funny.

All of that has definitely helped my sense of self-worth. It still needs some work though. I'm incredibly shy, which doesn't help to push past that 'distance' I mentioned earlier. I've got a small circle of friends, which is great, but I've never been in anything even remotely resembling a romantic relationship. I've had my fair share of crushes, but that attraction has never been reciprocated. I'm 24 now, and I've sort of come to terms with that. As much as I'd like it to happen, my expectations aren't high.

So when Jenny told me that she'd set me up on a blind date, I didn't really know how to react. Of all my friends, Jenny is the one most determined to put me in situations that challenge my social anxiety. When she told me the time and place, it was only a couple of days off. I barely had any time to mentally prepare myself. But I did my best, and although I don't really feel ready, I have managed to force myself to at least show up.

So here I am, standing outside of Ray's BBQ. You'd think that a BBQ joint would be a super casual place, but Ray's is a four star restaurant; not overly formal, but not exactly casual either. I've gotten myself nicely dressed up in a pair of khakis and a purple button-down shirt that I got at the big-and-tall shop. I've even got on a nice, navy blue tie. I can't tell if I look alright or not, but now that I'm here, it's not like I can do anything about it.

I may have shown up, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to dive in. I'm just trapped outside, sitting on a street-side bench, nervously bouncing my leg. My hands are clasped together in front of my mouth with a white knuckled grip, and I'm staring into the middle distance. My thoughts are racing, moving so fast that I can't keep track of them. All at once, I make a decision. I shut off my brain, stand up, and march myself into the restaurant. I can't believe I'm doing this... But I figure it'd be worse to stand up my date than to just let them meet me and realize for themselves that they're not interested.

All Jenny told me was the color that you'd be wearing. As I step inside, I can feel dozens of eyes turn on me, and my heart leaps in my chest. This is already awful. But I push that thought aside, and scan through the dining room to find you. When my eyes settle on you, I can see despite how many people immediately started staring, you haven't even noticed me. I'm not sure whether or not that's a good thing.

I make my way between the tables until I finally reach you. You seem to be engrossed in your phone, so you don't even realize I'm here until I pull out the chair opposite you and settle into my seat. When you look up, I watch as your eyes meet my chest first, expecting to find a face at that height. When you correct your gaze and look up into my eyes, I can instantly tell that I'm not what you were expecting. 'Fuck you, Jenny. You didn't tell them that I had Barclay's, did you?' My ears flick back in embarrassment, and my face flushes with so much heat that I'm sure you can see the pink glowing through the fur on the bridge of my short snout.

My eyes flick down and away, and I involuntarily hunch my shoulders in a cringe. But after a few moments of awkward silence, I take a quiet breath, pull myself upright, and cram a soft smile onto my face. I extend my massive hand, easily larger than your head, armed with a set of dangerous looking claws, and introduce myself. "Hi. I'm Alex."


Year: 2181

Lieutenant Zmeya Volkov (Female seeking male)

BD-Ser/Ca PtE3





You know, it's funny. Science fiction, for centuries now, has always known that humanity would discover new and exotic life beyond its home planet. It knew that, someday, humans would regularly interact with beings well beyond the accepted norm. Some even predicted that such interactions would be peaceful and prosperous. It just never could have guessed that these alien creatures would be human themselves.

I feel like a character in a sci-fi novel.

It's awesome.

For far too long, Barclay's Disorder was considered a significant disability by the International Aeronautics and Space Administration. It barred entry into service in the same way that being color blind does. For many people, this was for good reason; Barclay's isn't just skin-deep. It can pose certain serious medical concerns, not the least of which is the potential for weak cardiovascular and pulmonary systems. In most cases, this isn't of major concern in day to day living, and in fact, most sufferers are fully capable of athletic activity and physical strain. However, these issues can pose serious danger when it comes to exposure to high G's and fluctuating air pressure. Additionally, hemophilia is more common in those with Barclay's, which means higher risk of death in an accident. Perhaps just as importantly, the DNA of sufferers is notably more fragile and susceptible to damage; the heightened radiation exposure that comes with high altitude and space flight is a more significant factor in the development of cancer.

I played a significant part in lifting that ban. I aggressively petitioned for a more complex and specific system for selecting candidates for admission into the IASA, arguing that each of those risks should be assessed separately. I had a very lucky break when my case was picked up by the media and shared around the world. Inevitably, the news networks laid on as much spin as they could, making me out to be a hero fighting against discrimination over a century old, and people around the world absolutely fell in love with me. It was a bit frustrating and embarrassing to be made an idol, but it was definitely helpful. After gaining significant public support and the help of a few particularly forward-thinking politicians (who saw that helping me with my goals would boost their approval ratings), my demands eventually came under serious consideration. It took a few years of hard work, but we finally got what we wanted. Many of those with Barclay's are still unable to serve, but they are no longer turned away simply because they have the disorder. Their applications are denied not because of the disorder itself, but because of the specific symptoms that they personally present. This was a massive victory, and my proudest moment.

Part of our success came from the fact that I represented all of the advantages of changing the policy. My heart and lungs function perfectly normally, and have responded very well to training. Hiking in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado will do that to you. I don't have hemophilia, which is certainly another point in my favor. The only thing that counted against me was my fragile chromosomes, but agreeing to make Potassium Iodide a routine part of my diet served to lessen those concerns.

More importantly though, I'm not just a good example of how Barclay's doesn't have to make someone a liability; I happen to be gifted with certain advantages that make me even more desirable than the average human. Though subtle, my canine attributes present as a boosted sense of loyalty and camaraderie, as well as a uniquely potent survival instinct, not only for myself, but for my "pack mates." My much more obvious serpentine traits present their own, more physical advantages. My scales provide a small boost in durability, and my dense musculature combined with my remarkable flexibility and elasticity makes me uniquely resistant to the effects of high G acceleration. Perhaps what most intrigued the more scientifically-oriented members of the IASA leadership though was my impressive vision. Not only do I possess 20/15 vision, but I'm able to see the very beginings of the ultraviolet spectrum and well into the infrared. As a result, I can sense potential sources of radiation exposure, and can easily pinpoint sources of heat. I'm a weak Geiger counter and an infrared camera, all rolled into one.

Naturally, as soon as the ban was lifted, my application was accepted. Now, years later, I hold the rank of First Lieutenant serving aboard the Blaireau. She's an old ship, a holdover from when every ship had to be able to do everything. Nowadays, the fleet is large enough that specialized vessels are affordable, but back in the day, we had to squeeze everything we could out of the few ships we had. She just had a refit, so she's almost as good as new, and she just had some work done to cram in a shuttle bay. For this mission, she's working as both a transport ship and a freighter; we're headed to Jupiter Station, carrying about 250 settlers, fresh biostock, and a heaping supply of Helium-3 (Jupiter Station's own H3 mining equipment is undergoing a massive overhaul, and they're experiencing an unexpected shortage).



« Last Edit: September 26, 2017, 01:54:14 PM by TSElephant »

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #1 on: March 09, 2016, 09:50:52 PM »
Plot-Driven Prompts (Misc.)

This section is dedicated to some story ideas that exist as stand-alone plots. Each is written as a sort of "snapshot" of the character that I'm looking to play, so that you can get a taste of both my writing style and of the character's personality. Many of them are also designed to serve as the first post in a roleplay, as they introduce some sort of structure for a potential plot. One could also call this collection "Character-Driven," though I like to think that even my most simple writing is, at its heart, driven by character action rather than purely by their environment.



A Literal Alpha

Jacob Hollenhund





There's just something special about dating an Alpha like me. It feels like holding a loaded firearm. You feel safe. You feel secure. Everyone else who sees you with him knows not to get in your way. And of course, there's that subtle thrill that comes from being so close to something so dangerous, even if you know it won't hurt you.

And that's true of just human "Alpha Males." I put that in quotes very intentionally. You see, humans might be lucky enough to have the personality of an Alpha, and they can even strive for the body of one, but they'll never be an Alpha like a genuine, Canid Alpha Male. Oh, you've gotten a few odd looks for dating a Canid... There's a bit of a stigma over dating across species lines... But there's a reason some humans engage with the Canid minority from time to time. Some people would have you believe that Canids are like animals; uncivilized, brutish, primitive. And admittedly, we are more influenced by instinct than humans are. But some people, like yourself, recognize that to be a good thing. And of course, Canids are simply physically impressive creatures. Especially an Alpha.

Being in a relationship with each other has certainly made a few things about the world easier to see. Until we started dating, I had no idea just how deep-seated the usually unspoken cultural expectation of segregation really is. I mean, I've always known that there are plenty of places that cater more specifically to one race, but I'd never considered just how much it might upset people to see an 'outsider' in such an establishment. On top of that, I'd always felt that these places (restaurants, gyms, bars, etc.) were designed to be convenient for one race, and had never even though about how awkward and uncomfortable such a place would be for the other. But there are ways to get around the physical difficulties, like furniture size and shape, menu items, and so on. Even the surprise and discomfort of others is easy enough to ignore. It's the direct hatred that I wasn't expecting or prepared for. I can hear people muttering awful things about us to each other. They call us perverts and deviants. Canids think it's disgusting that I'd choose to be with a 'baldie' or an 'ape,' but even more upsetting for me is hearing humans call you an 'animal-fucker.' Even then, it's not upsetting because I'm being called an animal, but rather because they look down on you with such disdain and disgust. People that think that way are, thankfully, in the minority. All the same, I'm glad that I'm 7'6" and built like a monster; otherwise, I'd be worried about some bigot actually acting on their hatred.

Of course, what's funny is that, on some level, they're kind of right. Stereotypes are rarely invented in a vacuum; they're almost always inspired by a kernel of truth. Canids are more sensitive to instinct. Desires and urges rise to the surface more readily. An Alpha is no exception to this rule. Quite the opposite in fact. Dominant. Possessive. Territorial. Aggressive. And at the root of all of those whispers about perversion and sexual deviance is the undeniable truth that an Alpha is very, very keen on breeding. Being in a relationship with an Alpha means that handling that is just part of the deal.

You're the apple of my eye. I absolutely adore you. I treat you with kindness and respect. I vow to keep you safe and well. But it's just an accepted part of our relationship with each other that I get to fuck you however, whenever, wherever I want. No argument. No back chat. I'm the Alpha Male. I'm the breeder. And though I'd never stoop so low as to call you this, we both know that you're my bitch.


Modern (Alternate Universe)
Male character, seeking any




Isolated First Contact


Presect Don'Reva



Death

Truly, I have lived in an incredible era. It was a mere 41 sets before I was born that the keran tribes dissolved to unify our people in a single, global society. Medical science has reached an almost unbelievable complexity; for example, my parents had my first neural lace installed when I was three sets old, and I elected to install my first ocular implant when I was twelve. Since then, I've replaced and upgraded both multiple times, and had countless other instruments installed. But the advancement most dear to my hearts is that at long last, we are finally beginning our exploration of the universe beyond our planet.

Ever since I was a little girl, I'd always dreamed of being one of the privileged few that would journey to space. At that time, the United Keran Space Program was a fledgling organization, but all the same, it was doing some truly amazing things. Just before I was born, the first manned mission to Trea, our most distant moon, was a success. Before I was ten sets old, the Rach'hik Space Station was completed, and served as a platform for kerans around the world to experiment in outer space. It was incredible to watch our young race fling itself joyously at the stars.

Quote
"Presect Don'Reva, what's it like to know that you've been selected to pilot the Carina?"

"It's truly an honor. Ever since I was a child, I've wanted to be a part of our race's journey to the stars. This is absolutely a dream come true."

I remember once, when I was in primary school, I got to meet one of the Presects that made the trip to Trea. It was surreal. He'd always seemed like a deity to me, but here he was, in the flesh. He had fur, just like me. He had a tail, just like me. And he smiled just like an other keran would. He asked the auditorium if there were any pups that wanted to go into space. I immediately raised my hand. He asked for my name, and I shyly told him, "Don'Reva, sir." He was so kind. In no uncertain terms, he promised me that, if I were just to truly put my hearts and mind to it, I could be a Presect just like him some day. In hindsight, it sounds very cliche, but in the moment, it was the most awe-inspiring thing I'd ever heard.

Quote
"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Presect Don'Reva, destined to be the first keran to break the lightspeed barrier. Thank you so much for your time, Presect. It's been an honor."

"The pleasure has been all mine, Sir. But please, just let me be clear; I'm no saint or hero. I'm a keran just like anyone at home watching. Really, it's my honor to be a member of a race that's come this far."

Being accepted into the space program was one of the best things that ever happened to me. The years of training that lead up to that point all paid off, and the years of training that came after were met with passion and zeal. Despite all that training, I still remember how nerve-wracking my first mission was; it was a simple flight, just a short trip up to a satellite telescope to replace a defective lens. All the same, even though it was a mundane mission for the veterans I was serving with, it was life changing for me. I finally knew with absolute certainty that all of the years of hard work that I'd invested were worth it. This was what I was meant to do.

When I was selected to be the pilot of the Carina, an experimental craft designed to break the lightspeed barrier, I was reduced to tears. As a child, I could never have dreamed of being given such an honor. Until that moment, I had been following in the footsteps of my heroes. Suddenly, I found that I had joined their ranks.

Quote
"Launch in twelve milligens. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Ignition. Seven. Six..."

The press was all over me. They just couldn't get enough. It was... Interesting. It certainly wasn't why I'd worked so hard to become a Presect, but it felt good to be able to express myself to the world. I worked hard to fight the press' urge to idolize me, and I hoped that it paid off. I wanted children of the next generation to feel the same exhilaration I had at the realization that I'm just like them, that they can become someone like me someday. I felt that If I could inspire one young man or woman in the same way that I had been all those years ago, I'd be happy.

Quote
"Carrier module disengaged. The Carina is free. Begin final systems check."

Sitting in the cockpit of the Carina, I felt the same nervousness that I'd felt the day of my first mission. Any one of millions of things could have gone wrong, and I'd have been killed in an instant. But once the Carina reached orbit, safe and sound, a new nervousness kicked in. Getting into orbit on liquid and solid-state rockets was filled with countless risks, but they were all known. I was about to venture into unknown territory. FTL travel had never been done before. Things could go wrong in ways we'd never even imagined. But I was ready. I had confidence in the fact that I was prepared to deal with whatever might come my way, and I had confidence in the team of dozens of people on the ground, all there to support me.

Quote
"Flux levels within tolerable limits. Singularity compensation is operating normally. You are go."

"Engaging FTL drive."

Of course, the universe doesn't care how confident one is.

Quote
"Ground control, flux is rising abnormally."

"Disengage manifolds. Repeat, disengage."

"... Singularity compensation has failed. Manifolds will not disengage."

"Abort fire. Eject the core."

"... Antimatter core ejected. No effect. Singularity has reached critical mass. Gravity well is self-sustaining."

"Eject command module. Abandon the Carina. Repeat, abandon ship."

"..."

"Ground Control to Carina, eject command module."

"..."

"Carina, do you read?"

"..."

I should have been killed instantly. That's what all the tests had predicted. My subatomic particles should have been scattered across a stretch of thousands of light sets. Instead, there was a blinding flash of light, and the stars suddenly looked different. The familiar constellations that I'd known all my life were nowhere to be seen. The navigational computer couldn't make heads or tails of where I was. I was totally lost.

So I went to stage one emergency. I shut off everything but life support and the rescue beacon. As this was just a test run, meant to be a brief trip to the edge of the solar system and back, I was only expected to be gone for about a day. In case of an emergency just like this one, I'd been supplied with ten days worth of oxygen and water, as well as a small supply of rations.

On the fifth day, I had to come to terms with the idea that rescue might not be coming for a very long time. So I went to stage two emergency procedures. I dropped oxygen levels in the cabin to the bare minimum, and I used my implants to lower my metabolic rate as far as I could while still remaining conscious. This would let me stretch my survival out to maybe 30 days, though I would be miserable the entire time. If it meant survival, then it would be worth it.

On day 26, I had to let myself realize that rescue would not be coming. I could be half a light set from home, which would make rescue impossible enough, or I could be halfway across the galaxy. I had no way of knowing. I needed to come to terms with the fact that I was going to die.

On day 27, I brought my metabolic rate back up to full, pumped the cabin full of fresh air, and started up the mission recorder.

Quote
"This is Presect Don'Reva, pilot of the Carina. I am recording this final message for anyone who might find me in the future.

For its entire history, the keran race has been driven to explore and innovate. It always has been, and I hope always will be, on a quest to better itself and unravel the mysteries of the universe in which it lives. That spirit of exploration is the greatest gift that our people have ever had.

But exploration is not without its risks. Wherever there is unexplored territory, there are unforeseen dangers. This is simply the nature of exploration. But that has never stopped us. We've always pushed on, always bravely pushing the boundaries of what's possible. There have been sacrifices, but they've been worthwhile.

I am proud of my people. I am proud to be a member of such a curious, clever, and awe-inspired race. So I am proud to lay down my life in the name of my people's continued exploration. If anyone ever finds this, please, know that I don't regret anything. More than that, please... please... don't let my passing be a hindrance to our people's growth. Ever onward.

Presect Don'Reva, signing off."

I forced myself to drink all of my remaining water and eat all of my remaining rations. I sealed my helmet and rerouted all air supply through my suit, leaving the cabin a vacuum. I turned off life support.

I wept.

I used my neural lace to pull up my vital functions in my ocular implant. One by one, I put my organs into the lowest possible state of function. I cut communications between my brain and my muscles, paralyzing myself. I set up a simple program that, when initiated, would induce an artificial coma, reduce brain function to bare minimum, and then finally slow my hearts to a stop, leaving me relying entirely upon a low-power pump to keep my blood flowing. My lungs wouldn't be able to function under this level of suspension, so all that would keep my blood oxygenated would be the passive oxygen transport membrane installed in my nasal cavity.

I mentally thanked the universe for giving me such a full and exciting life, knowing full well that even though this level of suspension would keep me 'alive' for several dozen sets, it still wouldn't be enough. This was the end.

Then, I shut off.

I didn't even black out. I simply ceased to exist.




Resurrection

I couldn't hear the alarms inside my helmet over the searing agony that ripped through every cell of my body. My nerves were all firing pain signals to my brain in a desperate cry, screaming at me that each and every one of them was on the verge of death. My body arched violently as my auto-defibrillator tried again and again to reawaken my hearts. A moment later, syrup-thick blood started to churn through my veins, every droplet begging for oxygen, water and nutrients. I knew on some level that my lungs should be working, and I couldn't figure out why they weren't until I realized that they were busy filling my helmet with a blood-curdling howl of terror and torture.

Reanimation is not a pleasant experience.

Once the pain and shock had subsided to the point where I could actually register thought, I put my musculature augmentations to work, forcing my all-but-dead muscles to move my hands frantically over the computer consoles. When I figured out why I'd been reawakened, I immediately burst into tears. The mission clock registered the passage of 22 sets, but after all this time, all of which had passed in the span of an instant, the rescue beacon had detected a radio ping. I was being rescued after all. I could only hope that the rescue crew would be quick; at this level of activity and oxygen consumption, I had about 4 decigens of consciousness left.

That's when I looked out through the window.

And now, here I am, staring at something that I don't understand.

The thing is colossal. It's like a skyscraper floating in space. I've never seen anything like it. Not in my wildest dreams.

A chill runs all the way down from the base of my skull to the tip of my tail as I realize that I have seen something like this before. Just... Never in reality. This is something out of a science fiction movie.

This thing is not keran. As the massive vessel opens up what I can only assume is a loading bay like a giant set of jaws, I realize that I'm being taken aboard. I am not being rescued. I'm being collected... or perhaps a better term would be 'abducted.'




First Contact

I'm hungry.

And thirsty.

Hah, they're so small! I just wanna pick 'em up an' cuddle 'em.


I stand by the prow of the Carina, the jet black plates of my space suit glinting in the harsh florescent light of the loading bay. I lift my arms up high, stretching and yawning, revealing the elastic crimson material beneath the ablative armor. With a dopey smile on my face (one that I don't realize is completely hidden behind my opaque visor), I take a step forward towards the line of aliens.

They don't like that.

My smile vanishes as a series of smooth, otherworldly and elegant sounds echo through the bay; despite how gentle the shape of the sounds is, they are undeniably aggressive. I freeze in place and look around in confusion.

Stop yelling at me!

You all look so strange... No tail, no snout... Almost no fur...

Those are guns. Hah, weird.


In a brief but potentially life-saving moment of clarity, a memory from my training flashes across my mind. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. I feel... A bit euphoric? Definitely silly. Everyone reacts to hypoxia a little bit differently. These are my symptoms. I may be having fun, but in reality, I know that I'm dying. I don't have enough oxygen in my brain to register panic, but I do feel a flicker of sadness and disappointment. I was dead for so long! I don't wanna go back.

So I put my own, personal tactic for overcoming hypoxia into effect. I know from experience that fear won't motivate me. But silly fun can. So I make survival into a game I can play. With my hands held out in front of me in submission, I slowly settle to the ground, kneeling on the metal plating. My tail flops out behind me, and slowly starts to sweep back and forth playfully.

Hm... What game can I play today?

Ooh, I know! Let's do a puzzle together.


I smile brightly, looking up into the aliens' faces, and I simply shrug when I realize that they're not having nearly as much fun as I am. Once they're playing along, they'll come around, I'm sure.

Okay... So I'll draw three concentric circles...

I reach down to the floor, and with the brutally sharp claw at the tip of my glove, I start to scratch a drawing into the metal. The screeching is unpleasant, but it'll be worth the fun if my new buddies will relax enough to play with me. On the second circle from the middle, I draw two big X's, then on the outside one, I draw another six. I look it over for a moment, and then nod with satisfaction.

Now... Two. I need to show them 'two.' Binary should work.

I scratch out four circles in a column, then cross out the second from the bottom. I look up to see if they get the solution to the puzzle yet... But see only confusion. More hints it is then!

I manage to sketch a crude picture of my hand, complete with three fingers and a thumb, then draw a line pointing from the index finger to the crossed out circle.

See? Two. You get it? I hope you get it.

It occurs to me that I've only given them part of the puzzle. I toss my head back and chuckle, then set to work on drawing out the rest. I quickly scrape a rough oval into the metal, then another, smaller one inside... By the time I add ears, it's finally starting to look like my head. I add a mouth and a neck, then draw wisps of air going into the mouth and down the throat.

There. Get it? Haha... Maybe not. Oh well! This was fun. Hmm, maybe if I draw some hair...

Looking across my little puzzle, anyone could see the effects of the dwindling supply of oxygen to my brain. I started out with a reasonable diagram of the oxygen atom. Then, binary code for the number 'two,' followed by a scrawled out hand, as if to say, 'I need this many.' O2. I need O2. By the time I'm finished, I'm scribbling like I'm just 5 sets old.

Mm, what's missing? Oh, my mane! That'll look cute.

As I draw out a squiggle for my mane, my vision starts to tunnel, but I only vaguely notice. A few moments later I finally lose consciousness, slump over, and collapse to the floor, dragging a long line out and away from my illustrations. But by that point, I'm too far gone to care. I'm out like a light.

The Scrawlings of a Starved Brain



Science Fiction
Female character, seeking male




To Sate the Beast

It was just as the brilliant, scarlet sun came to meet the horizon of the western sky, like a ripe cherry resting atop the delicate fields of grain, that the cry sounded out from within the forest to the east. Every soul in the city of Greyston heard it; it sang out long and loud and clear. Just by the sound of it, one could tell that it was the cry of a powerful, graceful beast. But one could also tell that it wasn't a roar of the hunt, nor was it a territorial bellow. It was soft, smooth, and more than anything else, deeply mournful. It was the sound of a beast in the midst of pain and sorrow. Anyone who heard it was chilled to the bone by the sheer melancholy of the sorrowful song.

It lasted only moments, but as the sonorous wail died into the painted sky, the city burst into murmurs, speculation and superstition running wild. A wraith? No, it was too clear. A siren then? It couldn't be, for it was not tempting. A banshee perhaps? No, as rather than inspire fear, it filled the listener with despair and sympathy.

But there were some that did not need to speculate. There were some that knew.

There were stories, vivid tales of a beast known as the Ezzo. It's real nature was not known, and each retelling of the legends saw it change bit by bit. But all of the stories agreed on a few points. The Ezzo is a guardian. A thousand years ago, before it arrived, the city was merely a pitiful village, on the brink of collapse under the strain of one terrible misfortune after another. Then, the Ezzo came, and promised to protect the people, and to bring peace and prosperity... On one condition. The people were desperate, and accepted the offer. Ever since then, the settlement has seen nothing but the best of times, fortune and peace flowing freely for all.

But there was a price. That one, simple condition. In exchange for all it brought, the Ezzo demanded a tribute. Once every hundred years, it would call to the people, announcing that they had three days to prepare their sacrifice. At the end of the third day, when the sun met with the horizon, a young man, untainted by carnal knowledge, was to be given to the Ezzo.

The next morning, the elders revealed the truth to the people. They made it clear that the tales were true, and that the city had three days to find a man who would give himself away for the sake of the people. Thousands of citizens were made to know of the importance of this self-sacrifice, but it was not until the afternoon of the third day that one came forth. A young man, untainted by carnal knowledge. A willing tribute.

The populace crowded up against the edge of the city limits, pressed in tight against the low cobblestone wall. No one wanted to miss this moment, the temptation of morbid curiosity simply too potent to deny. The gate was opened, and the young man was thanked wholeheartedly for his selflessness. With that, he turned to face the Eastern Wood, and took his first step--

Though the treeline was distant, and the evening sun low, everyone saw it. It stepped out of the shadows just as the sun touched the horizon. It remained silent, and settled back onto its haunches, awaiting its tribute. Were it not for the tip of its tail steadily flicking back and forth, it could have been mistaken for a statue. It was nothing like the horrible monster that the people had expected, but all the same, its graceful, otherworldly presence fit too perfectly with its howl for it to be denied that it was, in fact, the Ezzo.

}==={

The Ezzo

As I wait at the edge of my forest, I let my eyes flicker over the people I've pledged my service to. There is a touch of sorrow in knowing that I am bound to this place by my promise, but it is well outweighed by the satisfaction and fulfillment I receive from giving so many people a chance at a beautiful life. There is, however, one need that I cannot fulfill so long as I serve as protector for these people. And that is why I come here today.

My jade eyes lock onto you as you slowly cross the open field. Good. The people haven't failed me. I will not go on being deprived. My terrible longing and suffering is at an end. I am merciful in only demanding this of my people once every hundred years; to wait so long leaves me empty and unsatisfied for decades. But I cannot bring myself to take more than I do; I am here to protect, not to harvest.

As you reach me, I silently nod to you, my eyes looking down ever so slightly to meet yours. With that, I turn, and slowly begin to return to my forest, knowing that you will follow.


Fantasy
Female character, seeking male



Reduced to a Mere Princess


Hnevi Ro

I was only twelve years old when the war with the humans began. As a princess, I'd had little exposure to the outside world. All that had mattered was etiquette, grace, beauty, and training for leadership. I was set to become queen someday, and although I looked forward to it, it was never a driving passion. I was never exactly thrilled by the idea of becoming queen, but it was all that was offered to me.

When the humans attacked, I was given my first taste of reality, though it was a mere teasing. The feeling of life in the castle changed, even though my father worked hard to keep me sheltered. My curiosity got the better of me, and whenever I could, I eavesdropped on discussions of war between my father and his advisors. The things I heard were upsetting at first. Outlying villages were at risk, several small forts had already been overwhelmed, and plenty of soldiers had laid down their lives in the name of their kingdom. But all of this I already knew to be the nature of conflict. It was unsettling for it to become a reality, but none of it was surprising.

It was only as the war progressed that I turned from being upset to becoming truly disturbed. Those outlying villages weren't being captured; they were being burnt to the ground. At first, I felt despair for the poor people living in those villages, until I heard that they had all been slaughtered first. Despair turned to horror. In an effort to soothe myself, I convinced myself that these words simply meant that the men defending the villages had been wiped out, but that hope was dashed when it was revealed that women and even children were being butchered. I started having regular nightmares, visions of weeping innocents being gutted by axes and impaled upon spears.

Then the rape.

The reports were sparse, the practice apparently uncommon and frowned upon by human leadership, but those leaders still did nothing to punish the soldiers that fucked our women before murdering them. Hearing that made me feel real disgust for the first time. It wasn't long before that disgust turned to hatred.

When I was fourteen, I demanded that my father allow me to help in the war effort. I needed to do something. I couldn't let him cover my eyes and ears any longer. What he gave me in an attempt to sate me was pitiful. It became my duty to deliver speeches to the people, to attempt to rouse them and make them more aware of the atrocities being committed by our foes. Little good that did; everyone had already heard everything I came to say to them. There was nothing I could do to rile them any further. I was useless.

I told my father this. I demanded that he allow me to join the military. He outright refused. I threw a tantrum the likes of which he could never have expected from me. Until then, I had been well behaved, respectful, and tranquil. In that moment, I made it abundantly clear that I hated him for making me so utterly useless and helpless. I tried again a month later. I was once again rebuffed. Again, another month later. My demands were rejected.

So I betrayed my father. I went directly to General Bauriz, and pleaded with him for training. To my intense frustration, he too rejected my pleas. It was only after he saw how intensely my fire burned after my explosive reaction that he reconsidered. So many of our soldiers had been drafted, and too many of them weren't truly passionate about the war effort. He saw that it would be unwise to turn away someone with as much drive as I possessed.

For two years, the General trained me in secret. I learned quickly. The sheer intensity of my motivation drove me to improve myself and advance in training at an unbelievable pace. At the end of those two years, I had acquired the level of skill and discipline that is required of one of the most highly honored ranks in the military; the Myrmidon.

General Bauriz called a meeting with my father, and brought me along. He did for me what I could not do for myself. The only thing I could ever do with my father was make requests. In this time of war, in accordance with ancient law, the General has just a few rights and powers that supersede the King's. I had asked my father to allow me to join in the fight for our people. The General simply informed His Highness that I had been accepted into the ranks. There was no room for bargaining or disagreement; the decision had been made. My father wept for me that day. Through his tears, as he clutched me to his breast and sobbed, he berated me for my disobedience, chastised me for endangering myself, but most importantly, admitted how proud he was to have such a strong-willed daughter.

Over the next four years, I fought on the front lines. My royal beauty was quickly stripped away, replaced by battle scars and the scowl of absolute determination. But in my new form as a Myrmidon, rallying battle cries, leading charges, and driving my soldiers to new heights, I did what I could never have done as a princess; the kyriak people finally had an icon, a source of inspiration. Their beloved princess became a war hero, a true role model to guide their actions in our time of crisis. I could finally be proud of what I gave to my kingdom.

And we lost.

The humans were simply too many. No matter how many fell, there were always more to fill the gaps. Their resources were vast in comparison to ours, and our people were starving, giving up all they had to feed their heroes. I knew we were fighting an uphill battle, but I was blind to the defeat that loomed on the horizon.

The King summoned me to the capitol. As his daughter, I was reluctant to comply with his demands, but as a Myrmidon, it was my duty to heed the orders of my King. So I returned home, not sure of what to expect. I thought that perhaps he was going to beg me to resign, or that maybe he simply wanted to see me again. Both ideas turned my stomach, but I could never have imagined how much worse his intentions were.

As soon as I saw him, I knew something was wrong. The expression upon his face spoke of compassion, love, and a deep, dark sorrow. I knelt before him, and he stood from his throne to approach me. "Rise, Myrmidon Ro." I obeyed, and brought myself to my feet. I was filled with a thousand questions and a heavy sense of dread, but I held my tongue out of respect, allowing His Highness to speak first. Until he stood just before me, he treated me with the same respect and honor he would give to any other Myrmidon. That simple show earned him much. In return for his respect, I did not turn him away when he tenderly reached out to caress my cheek, his thumb running sorrowfully over a scar.

He dropped his hand, and laced his fingers behind his back, returning to formality. "I bear grave news, Myrmidon." I heard a door creak open in one of the corners of the room, and just barely caught sight of the General leaving in order to give us privacy. "The people have given all they can, and more. They are suffering. The number of souls lost on the battlefield has grown too great. It is with sorrow that I must inform you that I am in the process of negotiating a treaty with the Kingdom of Nou-Occitan, the human realm." I drew a sharp breath, but held my tongue. I had not been asked to speak.

I was suddenly shocked to see the King's eyes well with tears. "In these negotiations, a more personal matter has arisen." He remained stoic, even as the fur of his cheeks became damp with rolling tears. "It has been made clear to me that, no matter what other compromises are agreed upon in this treaty, there is one demand which must be met." He takes a deep breath to steady himself and closes his eyes. "My daughter is to be wed to the heir to the human throne in order to unite our kingdoms."

I sent him reeling with a brutal backhand to his cheek. The resounding clap was loud enough to beckon the royal guards waiting just outside the throne room, and the doors burst open, weapons bared to defend the King. His hand rose to stay them, and with a gesture, they were dismissed. He knew that he deserved whatever I gave him.

I have never hurled more foul language or more detestable curses at anyone in my life. I warned him that I'd kill my husband if I were forced into such a foul union. I dared even to spit in his eye. I made him feel how much I hated him. He took it all. As I finished, I leaned in close with a vicious snarl on my face and hissed at him, forcing him to cringe and look away in shame. "How could you possibly live with betraying your daughter so cruelly?"

His answer was spoken so clearly and so perfectly calmly that it caught me off guard. But it wasn't his tone that shocked me. It was the truth of his words that punched me in the gut and made me weak in the knees. "Because I know that she'd give anything for her people." He finally brought his gaze back to mine as my jaw fell open and tears of despair began to flow.

Silence filled the space between us, only broken by an occasional, shaky gasp from me. After a while, I managed to pull my jaw back up into place, though the tears still ran.

"Hnevi... I--"

"I understand my orders, Your Highness. I am honored to accept this responsibility and to serve the kyriak people in such a profound way. Do you have any further instructions for me?"

"... I just hope that you can forgive me someday."

"... I already have, Father."

I wept bitterly that night.

The next morning, I departed for the capitol city of Nou-Occitan by carriage. That was two days ago. This morning, I was afforded time to properly prepare myself for the final stretch of the trip after spending the night in a human fortress. I bathed well, oiled my fur, polished my claws and fangs, and dressed in my formal military uniform. My father had insisted upon a dress, but eventually gave up on trying to persuade me. The tight-fitting, black uniform is impressive looking enough, and at the very least, I feel it will preserve at least a small portion of my dignity.

Now, we are finally slowing to a stop at the castle entrance. I can hear a herald announcing our arrival, and a moment later, I hear the hustle and bustle of guards pouring out from the castle doors. I should wait for the carriage driver to open the door for me, but I choose instead to make a point of my independence. I swing the door open and unceremoniously hop down to the paved road, ignoring the steps that would have allowed a more graceful descent. My eyes scour the crowd until they settle upon a young man of about my age, dressed in regal attire, flanked by a couple of formidable guards. I can only assume that he is the prince.

Throwing all protocol to the wind, I confidently stride towards him. Shouting breaks out among the assembled security, and I can hear crossbows being cranked into firing position from up above. I ignore it all. The two guards in charge of the prince step forward and in front, blocking my advance. I stop, and turn a piercing glare up to one of them. Without a word, but with a slow, non-threatening motion, I reach out to him and rest a hand on his shoulder, as though to push him out of the way.

"Order your guards to step aside, prince."


Fantasy
Female character, seeking male


« Last Edit: September 27, 2017, 03:01:18 PM by TSElephant »

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #2 on: March 23, 2016, 03:00:49 AM »
Character Profiles

On occasion, I find myself inspired to create a character,
often without a significant plot idea or overall story plan attached.
When that happens, I'll plop them down here.


Avery Robert Katze
       

Name: Avery Robert Katze

Age: 26

Race: Lynx

Sexual Orientation & Status: Gay(Bi)/Non-Virgin/Single (Is ever so slightly curious about what it's like being with a woman. Could be convinced to give it a try, if promised a gentle, patient, and helping hand.)

Appearance: Avery, a male lynx gifted with female charm, stands at 5'4", with almost enough tail to make an entire other Avery. Very fastidious and clean, he always puts his best effort into looking exactly. Just. Right. This attention to detail and cleanliness often seems to clash with his bubbly, exuberant attitude, as many people seem unaccustomed to seeing a neat-freak wear a brilliant smile nearly 24/7. In fact, it seems as though his cleanliness and focus upon detail doesn't extend far beyond his body, his clothes, and his apartment; his always-perfect pink-dyed hair seems as much at home at a wild party as it does paired with his smart suit when he's at work. Of course, no matter what he's wearing, his outfit is perfect, and it perfectly covers that awful, jagged scar that tears across his back.

Job: Server at almost-5-star restaurant, 'Source Chaude de Montagne.' Years ago, this job would have seemed like a pleasure cruise to him, and ever since he was hired, he's not taken it for granted once.

Personality: At first glance (and the occasional double-take), Avery can seem very, very effeminate, which has scared off plenty of people who find the stereotypical 'flamboyant diva' grating. Anyone who takes the time to actually hear more than a sentence cross his lips will quickly realize that while Avery is confident, outgoing, and will turn into a chatterbox given half a chance, he's even more friendly, attentive, and kind... There's not an ounce of diva in him. (Well... Maybe one ounce. Just don't point out that his name is "Avery Bob Cat," and you'll be just fine.) Despite his overall effervescent personality, there are two things that can shut him up in a heartbeat. Flirt with him, and if he likes you, he'll melt into a puddle of blushes and bashful muttering. Ask the wrong question about his past, and he'll insist that no, he's fine... but he'll be quiet and distant for who knows how long... Five minutes? An hour? The rest of the night?

Alignment: Neutral Good (with a nice, strong Chaotic streak). Nine times out of ten, he's a sweet, gentle guy. But that tenth time, he's either out on a wild night, as happy and crazy as a loose cannon is dangerous, or he's between the sheets, making some poor, lucky soul scream for mercy.

Powers/Abilities:
  • These legs...: ...were made for climbin', and that's just what they'll do. This mountain cat's legs can work a ten hour double-shift at 'Source' and not feel a thing. And if you're lucky, these legs are gonna climb all over you.
  • Night Stalker: With a combination of his ancestry of nocturnal predators and his history of doing unsavory work for unsavory people, Avery's got remarkably keen eyes, fast reflexes, and razor sharp claws and teeth, and he knows how to use them. It's very difficult to get on his bad side, but all the same... Don't.

History:

The journal lies open on the desk, Avery's eyes flicking over the pages, though they're not really reading any of what's written. He's read his own story enough times to know it almost word for word. The handwriting is, for the most part, meticulous and careful, though there are a few spots where the emotion in the writer clearly shows through in shaky letters and words that drift from the lines in the paper. Despite how clean and precise most of it is, and how even the most disorderly text is still legible, the cat still struggles to read it. But he has to. He promised himself that he would.



                                                 
















































                                                                               
















































     I'm writing this down so that I can be sure never to forget it, and to be sure that time doesn't warp or weaken the memory.

     Four years ago, my mother walked in on me while I was with another man. She was supposed to be on her way to the airport. I was stupid, and had made the hormone-fueled, impatient decision to start with Jacob before I was sure she wouldn't return to collect something she'd forgotten. That's how she found out I was gay. I was 17 and a senior in high school when she kicked me out. I dropped out of school and made my way to Zootopia as quickly as I could. 'Where anyone can be anything,' right? Despite what had happened, I was at least cautiously optimistic about my prospects.

     No one wanted to hire a homeless, faggoty, 17 year old high school dropout. Within a year, I was selling my body on the street so that I had enough cash to buy myself food, a shitty apartment, and nighthowler snuff. Needed to eat, needed to have shelter, and needed to distract myself from my thoughts and stay energized enough for the next client. Wasn't living, so much as surviving. Don't know what else I could've done, but there were probably other options. Stupid. Regret it.

     A golden eagle saved my life by trying to end it. I should have seen the warning signs. He'd rambled on about his insane little twisted notions... Something about how being the first to do something wasn't nearly so impressive as being the last, like... 'buying the first toy as it hits the shelf is satisfying. Buying the last one, the only one that still exists, is glorious.' I just nodded along and said what he wanted to hear, too hopped up on nighthowler to care. Just as he finished, still out of breath, still inside, he muttered something like 'I'll be the last one that ever takes you,' and slashed me across the back with a knife. I was smart enough to keep my pepper spray within arms reach, but too stupid to remember that avians are immune to capsaicin. No effect. Thank god I was ripped out of my mind on drugs, or I wouldn't have been able to fight back as well as I did. There's a gap in my memory (whether it's because of my injuries or the drugs, I'm not sure), between a few seconds into defending myself and waking up in the hospital. Apparently, I'd been found just outside the ER, laying atop the eagle after carrying him halfway across town, having collapsed from blood loss.

     I was charged not guilty of murder due to a successful self-defense plea. Then, Zootopia finally showed me what it had to offer when, instead of putting me away for drug possession, they put me in rehab, and instead of just letting me walk out with nowhere to go, they'd helped me find a job and put me in a half-way house. During that time I had to make regular visits to ZPD, and ended up getting to know Officer Clawhauser better than I'd known anyone else since my arrival in Zootopia (which isn't saying much, but it's saying something). He saw how I was improving, how I was learning to function again, and he saw what I could be. He put in a few good words for me with his friend, the owner of a reasonably well-known restaurant. That's how I came to be the only employee of Source Chaude de Montagne with a criminal record.

     Now, a year and a half later, I have a stable income, a job I enjoy, a not quite so shitty apartment, and my GED. This is what I came to this city for, and I'm finally finding it.

Avery Katze
October 3rd, 2012



Avery's quivering hand wipes tears away from his cheeks. He falls back against his desk chair, eyes clamped shut, hands clenched against the armrests for a moment as he allows himself to feel his emotions, rather than simply push them away. Finally, he fills his chest with a deep breath, leans forward, and turns the page.



                                       









                                                                     









~Plans to Make Avery Awesome Again~
  • Remember what it's like to enjoy sex
  • Learn to take pride in your appearance beyond your sex appeal
  • Learn to judge your worth by your own standards, not by how much you can sell yourself for
  • Learn to be habitually clean
  • Save $5,000
  • Enroll in further education (trade school or college)


With a soft smile, tears still in his eyes, Avery looks at the list of goals he'd made for himself nearly four years ago. It's taken a long time, but finally, he crosses off the last item. A wash of pride rises up within him, leaving him beaming as he settles back into his chair once more, fingers laced behind his head. He's known for some time now that he has value, that he's good for something, that he brings something of importance to the world. But now... Now, Avery from four years ago would be proud. He'd be proud of just how awesome he turned out to be.

Player likes: For Avery specifically, I would simply love the opportunity to put his gentle and attentive nature to good use in the bedroom. I'm sure he'd be flattered beyond belief if someone invited him to be their first foray into gay sex. And if anyone wanted to take him by the hand and show him the wonders of women, that would be an exceptional delight. Aside from that, I'll just drop my On's&Off's here for anyone who's curious.

Player dislikes: Pretty much what's in my On's&Off's, though if I'm in the right mood with the right partner, I can be pretty flexible. If you've got something particular in mind, I'm all ears.

« Last Edit: September 08, 2017, 11:27:28 PM by TSElephant »

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

  • ~~ Not a Human ~~ Sneezes are quite similar to orgasms, aren't they?
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  • Location: The TWERK ZONE
  • Both, if they're good, are loud and messy.
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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #3 on: April 01, 2016, 02:18:12 PM »
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PlotLiteTM
"For when you want more Tail than Tale"

So, as you might have guessed, these are some offerings of a more... lascivious nature. They're clearly geared towards getting to the point where things get messy much, much sooner. This can range anywhere from just 10-15 posts in, or even almost immediately, depending on how you and I end up deciding to play it out.




The Gift of New Experiences (Closed)

Writing as a Male Character

Alexander Lago

As I stand before you, I wear only five things: a pair of black slacks, just tight enough to both put my body on display and maintain good taste, a similarly tasteful and tight shirt, a simple, yet elegant leather collar with a golden buckle, a confident facade, a the subtlest hint of trepidation and nervousness behind my hazel eyes. I personally feel as though I'm quite pleasing to the eye, but that is, of course, for my owner to decide.

My digitigrade feet are planted immediately next to each other, pressing my powerful, yet supple and slender legs tightly against one another, complimenting my exceptionally well-trained posture to bring me up to my full height of 5'2"... Ears excepted. My arms are held comfortably and formally behind my back, helping me maintain that impeccably straight spine and lifting my gentle chest up and forward.

After a few moments of silence, allowing me to observe my owner's quiet curiosity and what I detect as the slightest hint of confusion, I put my teacher's instructions to use, and begin to speak. This will be the only time I speak to my owner without being spoken to first, unless he gives me permission to do otherwise. "Good afternoon, sir." My voice is a soft, smooth tenor, reminiscent of a perfectly tuned, masterfully played viola.

"My name is Alexander Lago, though you may give me any name you desire. I have been delivered to you as a gift from a friend who has elected to remain anonymous."

"Though I would choose to be more humble than to proclaim my own value, I am instructed to inform you that I come to you from Adelin Langerhan's Masterwork Servants, and that I am a product of the Elite Platinum class. To expound upon this information, this means that I represent fifteen years of intensive and rigorous training, that I am unquestioningly obedient, highly flexible and malleable to meet any and all of your needs or desires, and, to paraphrase Madam Langerhan, as well as multiple reviews by highly esteemed professionals, that I am without a doubt unsurpassed by any other in terms of quality."

"The individual who sends me to you as a gift has requested that I inform you of two things. Firstly, they wish for you to know that they recognize that you prefer to keep women in your company, but that they insist that you take full advantage of my services. To quote them, they state that doing so would be 'more than enough thanks for such a remarkable show of generosity.' Secondly, they desire that I inform you that I am 'completely untainted by carnal knowledge, both physical and mental.' I admit with some regret that I do not understand this message, and therefor cannot further explain it, but I have been assured that such a trait can be seen as highly desirable."

I give a subtle nod before I finish my introductory speech. "In conclusion, if you have any questions for me at all, you may ask them at any time, as is your right as my master. And of course, I am ready to begin my service to you whenever and however you see fit."


Writing as a Female Character

Alexander Lago

As I stand before you, I wear only five things: a pair of black slacks, just tight enough to both put my body on display and maintain good taste, a similarly tasteful and tight shirt, a simple, yet elegant leather collar with a golden buckle, a confident facade, a the subtlest hint of trepidation and nervousness behind my cloudy-sky blue eyes. I personally feel as though I'm quite pleasing to the eye, but that is, of course, for my owner to decide.

My digitigrade feet are planted immediately next to each other, pressing my powerful, yet supple legs tightly against one another, complimenting my exceptionally well-trained posture to bring me up to my full height of 5'2"... Ears excepted. My arms are held comfortably and formally behind my back, helping me maintain that impeccably straight spine and lifting my strong chest up and forward.

After a few moments of silence, allowing me to observe my owner's quiet curiosity and what I detect as the slightest hint of confusion, I put my teacher's instructions to use, and begin to speak. This will be the only time I speak to my owner without being spoken to first, unless she gives me permission to do otherwise. "Good afternoon, madam." My voice is a soft, smooth baritone, reminiscent of a perfectly tuned, masterfully played cello.

"My name is Alexander Lago, though you may give me any name you desire. I have been delivered to you as a gift from a friend who has elected to remain anonymous."

"Though I would choose to be more humble than to proclaim my own value, I am instructed to inform you that I come to you from Adelin Langerhan's Masterwork Servants, and that I am a product of the Elite Platinum class. To expound upon this information, this means that I represent fifteen years of intensive and rigorous training, that I am unquestioningly obedient, highly flexible and malleable to meet any and all of your needs or desires, and, to paraphrase Madam Langerhan, as well as multiple reviews by highly esteemed professionals, that I am without a doubt unsurpassed by any other in terms of quality."

"The individual who sends me to you as a gift has requested that I inform you of two things. Firstly, they wish for you to know that they recognize that you generally prefer not to keep servants, but that they insist that you take full advantage of my services. To quote them, they state that doing so would be 'more than enough thanks for such a remarkable show of generosity.' Secondly, they desire that I inform you that I am 'completely untainted by carnal knowledge, both physical and mental.' I admit with some regret that I do not understand this message, and therefor cannot further explain it, but I have been assured that such a trait can be seen as highly desirable."

I give a subtle nod before I finish my introductory speech. "In conclusion, if you have any questions for me at all, you may ask them at any time, as is your right as my Master. And of course, I am ready to begin my service to you whenever and however you see fit."


Modern
Male character, seeking any





Lord Mordred Requests your Presence (Closed)
WARNING

This prompt is not like the others I've posted below. While most of my writing tends to focus upon at least some level of romance, this one does not. Although the sexual moments in my other prompts can be particularly "vigorous" and "intense," they are always centered upon mutual consent and pleasure. This roleplay will not contain these elements. The character I will be playing, Lord Mordred, undeniably fits the clinical description of a sociopath. He is immensely selfish, uncaring, and he delights in the suffering of others.

This roleplay will include: non-consensual sex, psychological manipulation, threat of physical abuse/trauma, potential physical abuse/trauma, mild to moderate blood, bondage.

I do not condone this sort of behavior in reality. This scenario is written exclusively as a fantasy, and is not to be taken as advocacy of any of the acts contained. It is written purely as fiction.
Mordred
I'm well aware of how I seem. Far too many times has it been made clear that, though I rule over Kritia, I seem small, fragile, immensely effeminate, and totally unintimidating. To be quite honest, I prefer it this way. No one but a select few perceive me as much of a threat, or even threatening at all. At best, I'm seen as endearing, and at worst, I'm seen as a nuisance.

Some know better. The mutts of Andrea fell beneath my power before they even realized we were at war. The human kingdom of Brittyr was "annexed" after a short, brutal campaign of total warfare. The last slave rebellion to ever occur in Brittyr happened mere days after my coronation, and after the brutality I inflicted upon their insolent and childish tantrum, such problems have ceased to exist. It would seem that having their greatest hero viciously beaten in each and every major city in the kingdom, then denied the honor of martyrdom in death, was enough to dissuade further uprisings. Of course, publicly, it was announced that these things were ordered by my General, to preserve my facade of weakness and ineffectuality. My General had actually questioned my order on the final subject. The punishment he received was more than enough to remind him of his place.

And now, in this time of peace... I hunger for the thrill of domination. Doesn't matter who or what any more. It only needs to be something pleasant that I can own, control, and slowly consume with my own will.

The letter arrived at your doorstep by royal courier yesterday.

Quote
Subject,

Recently, I have found that I feel the need to reach out to my subjects more directly than I have before. It seems to me that despite my various public appearances during times of duress and of celebration, I feel terribly disconnected from my people. I know of them, and I do my very best to serve them well as their Lord, but alas, I do not have the proper acquaintances or experiences to connect on a more personal level with them.

It is for this reason that I write this letter to you, loyal subject. On my many trips to Andrea on errands of peacekeeping, I find myself passing by your fields time and again. I have witnessed your diligence and passion in your work, and I have, on occasion, had the pleasure of hearing you sing or whistle to yourself as you tend your crops. I feel that, having grown to know you in this vague and distant way, it would do me well to have you visit me in my home. I may even have an opportunity to offer you prolonged stay in my keep as a temporary or permanent servant, if such things would interest you.

I have arranged for General Baurin to collect you tomorrow morning, one hour after sunrise. I very much look forward to meeting you personally.

With sincere thanks,

His Highness Lord Mordred

Transcribed from dictation by Scribe Norel

Fantasy
Male character, seeking any





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Snippets

Occasionally, I conjure up a vague, very brief concept for a story, or as is more common, I'm inspired to write out a short scene or outline in relation to something that's been said or shown to me by a fellow writer. Though I'm not necessarily exceptionally enthralled by some of these ideas, I think they present some opportunity for crafting a full story, and have the potential to be very entertaining. So if you see something here that you really love, let me know!



Your First Time Here? (Closed)


"...Your first time here you mean? No need to be bashful or nervous. We all have dry spells every now and then. I'll just walk you through the rules--"

"Ah, er... no.... Sorry, that's not what I meant. It's ah... It's my first time. I-I've never... I'm a..."

"...Oh. Ohh." *Licks her lips, then slides in closer to her client and cups his face in tender hands* "...Well. We'll just have to make your first time special, won't we?"






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Image Prompts

These are a few characters I'd be thoroughly interested in playing, but don't have a story in mind for. In other words, I'm totally open to any suggestions!




                                                           
SFW (Closed)

Foxy Little Thing


Fennec Lass


Ithska of Bedlam Gorge (Closed)


The Hungry, Playful Beast


NSFW (Closed)


No, really. This is NSFW.
There are pictures which depict genitalia in the following collection.
Still with me?
Alright then! Have fun! :D

Yippee!


I knew it! M/M


C'mon, give it a try... M/M


Canis Lupus M/F
                                                           

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Retired Prompts

The Chill of Brokenness (Retired)

Lije Olivaw


Tl;dr
Yowzers, I did not expect to get that long winded. To cut a very, very, very long story painfully short... Lije Olivaw is a member of a race that, until this last year, was enslaved in brutal mines. After a catastrophic natural disaster, Lije showed a moment of heroism, but in the act, was horribly wounded. When rescue ships arrived, they liberated the slaves, and reconstructed Lije using cybernetics. His acts of selflessness have become somewhat of a legend, and to further the efforts of a government organization to expose the race that enslaved Lije's kind, he goes on tour to talk about his experiences. It is implied that he is beginning to fall for the person that offered him this opportunity to tour and share his stories.


I'd never even considered the idea that I might someday be a celebrity. Even that statement gives too much credit to the concept. A year ago, I didn't know what a celebrity was. In the Eta Carinae Mines, no one knows more than what they need for maximum efficiency. The Benefactors made sure of that.

Built in the Eta Carinae nebula, the mines were constructed to extract the sorts of heavy elements that are left behind by supernovae. I had no idea, but the sort of things I mined each day represented unimaginable fortunes. 10kg of gold in one day was just barely enough to keep you off the lottery for the weekly Motivational Seminars. My mother had become pregnant with a seventh child, and her productivity had declined in the eighth of the thirteen months of gestation. She and twenty-four other failures, most of them very young children, the very ill, or the elderly, were lined up before a firing squad and cut down before an audience of thousands, as was the usual procedure at the Motivational Seminars. I remember being sad that I'd lost a friend, but I hardly had the time to feel any more than that.

The closest I ever came to celebrity was the one week I won the Highest Regional Production Award. Such luxury for those five days: double water rations, 10% boost in protein rations, and freedom from the threat of neuroducer lashes. I would have had all seven allotted days, were it not for the Collapse.

90% of the workforce (I've been told "population" is a better term, but old habits die hard) was killed instantly by the massive cave-ins that rolled through the mines after the Eta Carinae stellar remnant destabilized, sending shockwaves and gravitational disturbances through the asteroids and planetoids in the immediate vicinity. Most of the remaining 10% were horrifically wounded, the majority dying within minutes or hours. I'd been truly lucky, being one of the few that were in the small nodes of ultra-dense geological formations. I managed to save a few dozen of my co-workers (again, "fellow victims of slavery" is apparently what I should call them), though many of them perished in the coming days. I suppose I can be glad that I made sure that their final breaths were full and deep, rather than shallow, pinned beneath stone. I had demanded that among those that I unpinned, the ones who could still walk were to carry those that couldn't to the nearest uncompromised shelter zone and not return. I'd been eating better than any of them because of my award; I was more capable of uncovering the wounded, dead, and dying.

This went on for a little more than an hour before the secondary shock hit. It wasn't nearly as severe as the first, but it was enough to shift the already loose rubble. The pain of having nearly the entire right side of my body crushed into pulp was indescribable. Again, my survival was ensured by luck. As the nearby plasma conduit overloaded and exploded, the fire that engulfed me cauterized my wounds, guaranteeing at least a few days to exist as a barely living, half pulverized, half charred corpse. I was a bit less lucky in that one of the pipelines that carried the aerosol stimulant used to keep the workers perpetually alert had burst, making sure that I never quite lost consciousness.

A few days of near death was all I really needed to endure though. The rescue ships arrived four days after the collapse, and I was one of the first to be pulled from the carnage, despite my desperate, incoherent pleas for a swift end. At least they were merciful in giving me the gift of unconsciousness via a needle in the forehead. I had wondered why they went for such a vein, until it had been explained that all the usual places for a needle were buried under crackling, blackened flesh, or simply didn't exist anymore, having been crushed to the point of uselessness.

When I awoke, there was no pain. It was explained to me that nearly six months had passed, my condition so severe that the initial sedation I'd received had pushed me into a coma. I had been totally shocked that I had survived at all, brought to tears by relief, then by the overwhelming grief and horror from the memories of the sights and sounds of what I'd been too focused on action to really see and understand. These emotions didn't last long though, replaced by mind-numbing panic as I watched a foreign, vicious looking set of claws leap towards my face just as I meant to wipe my tears away. It took some serious convincing by the doctors to make me realize that this appendage was my own arm, or rather what took my original arm's place.

Right eye, right ear, right arm, right leg, right lung, half of my ribs, half of my skull, my heart, three other miscellaneous organs, several small patches of cerebral tissue, my larynx, 73% of my skin, and every hair. All cybernetic replacements.

The Bureau of Ethical Labor Practices and Investigation, or the BELPI, was the organization that stepped up and really reached out to my people. We'd only really been able to maintain an oral history, so we had some basic idea that there were other races besides us (Kaeri) and the Benefactors (who are apparently known by the rest of the galaxy as Parthigens), and we were vaguely aware of the fact that we'd been working in the mines for six or seven generations. But the BELPI showed us things that absolutely stunned us. Apparently, we'd always had a very small population, but at one point, we'd been able to wander the stars just as so many others could! It had been a small, quickly forgotten mystery when we suddenly vanished. Nomads. Travelers. It wasn't too much of a stretch to think we'd simply moved on. Finding us again, living so differently than we had before, had been the biggest news story in years. Many Parthigens have been working very hard, pouring as much of their unimaginable wealth into quieting the tale as they can, but it seems that the BELPI is finally getting a foothold on the road to holding them responsible for... It still seems to strange to me. To think that my entire life, the only thing I've ever known, was cruelty of the most heinous kind. Honestly, just having the time to feel and express more than basic emotion is rather a new concept.

In any case, the reason I'm where I am today I suppose comes from my actions during the Collapse. Stories began to circulate among my kind, starting out as reasonably accurate descriptions of what I'd done; despite being a bit below average in size and build, I'd managed to get a good number of people to safety, and while I was at it, very nearly died. The stories escalated and ballooned, just as any rumor does. It wasn't long before legends of a petite man, able to lift boulders twice his size and carry five wounded men to safety at a time, began to bounce around, totally out of control. Some human caught wind of the story, and asked for this hero's name. "Lije Olivaw, Bite-Sized Hero of Eta Carinae!" When they finally tracked me down, I was almost certain they would be disappointed. Yes, I'm short and lithe in comparison to the average Kaeri man, but I'm still 6'4". And no, I didn't save 500 men, women and children. I pulled maybe 30-ish people from the rubble, many of whom died anyway, and then I got mashed and fried. But that was good enough for this human, a BELPI agent.

For a year now, I've traveled with and served the public relations department of the BELPI. They've taught me so many amazing things... Money seems so exotic to me. It's like an extra, intermediate step in the bartering process... One serves a Benefactor (no, no... "employer") not just to survive, but to earn this money. I'd never been exposed to anything like it, but I forced myself to learn all about how it works, seeing as I often have four whole digits of it at a time. There are no water rations, and with all this money, I can buy nutrition that I could never have dreamed of before. I've nearly doubled in weight. Supple, soft lips and cheeks now make it almost impossible to see the details of the skull beneath. My belly is flat, no longer the gaunt cave I had thought was natural for my kind. My ribs have been hidden, swaddled in a thin layer of silky fat and dense muscles I would have considered supernatural not so long ago. My gums and lips have ceased to bleed, my head only throbs with pain on occasion, and my bones no longer groan and buckle under stress.

Now, I'm the face of the Kaeri. To be more specific, I represent, as the final words of my cue to go out on stage say, "what the Parthigens so selfishly and cruelly kept hidden from the rest of the galaxy. Every race has beauty to offer and heroes to honor. We've shown you the incredible artistry of the Kaeri people, and now, we give you their hero. Lije Olivaw!"

As I step out into the blindingly bright spotlight, I give an admittedly nervous wave to the largest crowd yet to gather at one of these 'awareness rallies.' Ten thousand people. There are a few hundred more people here today just to see me than there are Kaeri still alive. Though my nerves are driving me to the brink of panic, I manage to give my well-recognized smile. It comes so naturally to me, yet it's been called 'smoldering,' 'heroic,' and even, to my immense embarrassment, 'undeniably sexy.'

As the applause dies down, I open my mouth to introduce myself, but the only sound that comes out is a dry, empty gasp. The sound of irreparably damaged vocal chords leaps from the speakers and washes over the crowd, and everything grinds to a dead stop. A deep jade flush of shame glows upon my snout, and I turn from the microphone both to hide my embarrassment and to adjust my collar. Long, agonizing seconds grind by in painful silence as I struggle with the synthesizer, until finally, just as someone is inches from coming from back stage to help me, I feel the buzz of a successful connection between the collar and the implant in my throat. I throw up my hand to let the aide know that I've got everything under control, and we exchange a quick thumbs up. I finally turn back to the crowd, and realize that hot tears of frustration and shame have begun to gather on my left cheek, the right tear duct having given up long ago.

My earpiece springs to life, and the voice of the agent that chased me down and offered me this opportunity speaks softly. They give me gentle words of comfort and encouragement. Nothing overly complicated, but just enough. They always know what to say. I can't thank them enough.

I wipe away the moisture upon my cheek, and finally begin to speak, the artificial recreation of my voice speaking in an absolutely truthful tone, quivering just as the one I was born with would have. "Hah... I'm... Sorry, ladies and gentlemen. I'm sure you came here to see the towering, invincible Olivaw." I give a nervous chuckle, which earns a few sympathetic laughs. "But ah... He's not here. In fact, if you want to meet him, I'd like to direct you just outside the front doors to this theater, on the right, two blocks down. You'll see him on the cover of every tabloid for sale at the news stands." Oh, thank god. Some genuine laughter at that joke. "No, that Olivaw doesn't really exist except as sort of a legend. Goodness, it sounds so terribly cliche to say it out loud, but it really is true; I'm just a man." I throw some extra, melodramatic bravado into the last phrase, finally getting some good, rolling laughter out of a slowly warming audience. "As awful as that little moment was, I think I'm glad you got to see it. That's real. I'm not the Great and Wonderful Olivaw. I'm Lije. I struggle with little inconveniences and the large scale anxieties just like anyone does. Don't... Don't think I'm somehow special. More than anything, I've just been lucky, and I've managed to make the most of that luck." I pause for a moment, taking a few seconds to breathe, before I begin my story.

"...I'd never even considered the idea that I might someday be a celebrity. Even that statement gives too much credit to the concept..."


Science Fiction
Male character, seeking any






Anomalous Gravitation (Retired)

Admiral Gaedr

Admiral Gaedr (alt image)

My entire body tenses when the first of the human delegates begin pouring into the room. The Carina-Sagittarius War ended over a decade ago, but after seeing it first hand, I can hardly forget the atrocities they perpetrated upon my race.

No... They were not the only brutal, merciless monstrosities involved in that war. I may never forgive them for the Metreon Cascade, but it was merely the way they chose to finish something we started. Uninhabitable seems like such a neutral word, describing a place which need only be avoided. One learns to see that word differently when it is suddenly applied all at once to an entire world which is still inhabited by millions.

The human delegation slowly settles into their seats across from the Vay Pentacle, chattering and scrambling as they always seem to do. Indeed, the only two humans who don't seem to be in a wild fuss are the final two who step through the door: the President, and someone who I know nothing about. Personal guard? Cabinet member?... I've no idea.

Whatever the case, the nature of this meeting is clearly of significant importance. The President is here, and to my total shock, so is her Highness, Empress Silves. She stands at the end of the table, clearly taking the position of command. She called the meeting to order herself. Unprecedented.

Order and quiet falls upon the conference room, all eyes upon her Highness. Her golden stare sweeps across the room, allowing silence to gather and well up before speaking. "...It has come to my attention that a source of intense gravitational distortion has begun to emit anomalous, highly structured radiation in subspace. It just so happens that this radiation's frequency matches Vay subspace communication frequencies nearly perfectly." One of the members of the pentacle performs a subtle gesture, and the holo-projector in the center of the table displays an image which looks like a random collection of specks and waves. Though I've never understood much of this sort of thing myself, I respect it well enough to pay attention, and learn how to apply it practically.

The image hangs, meaningless for the time being. "...For political reasons, the successful decryption of human communication relays has been kept--" Muttering and whispering sweeps across the human delegates, only brought to silence by a soft shush from their President. "...Thank you. Has been kept classified. However, we discovered that if we scan the anomaly at the lower frequencies of human communication and apply decryption, we find a very similar signal." A second image leaps to life at the center of the table. Her Highness merely nods to one of the Pentacle, and they stand, silently reaching out to the two patterns. With a single rotation of ninety degrees, the two images form two walls of a cube... and the pattern becomes apparent to me. I can see it even before the projection displays where the specks and circles and waves intersect when extended from their surfaces, and like magic, there it is; a star map. And a single, obviously indicated planetoid, nestled deep within the Briar Patch nebula.

Silence. Everyone already knows what it means. There's someone trying to get our attention. What makes everyone truly freeze is that whoever is reaching out must have known both what frequencies humans and Vay broadcast at, and how to use human encryption. That, and the memory of what happened the last time either of us responded to such a message. War.

When the next image is displayed, I feel as though I'm going to vomit. My dossier, the dossier of the infamous Admiral Gaedr, hangs in the air. Immediately beside it is the record of the human I didn't recognize. Right over the top of both, clear as day, are the words "Cooperative Investigation."


Science Fiction
Male character, seeking any






Reality is Stranger than Fiction (Retired)

Aurelius the Nymph

(This image has been modified in order to adhere to Elliquiy rules regarding NSFW images.
As a result, the artist's signature has been partially cropped out. Artist credit: Chimerasynx
Contact me in PM if you would like the original image.)

In 1965, the Fey revealed themselves to humanity. Fairies, sprites, brownies, fauns, nixies, pixies... In the slang of the time, some referred to the new arrivals as "nyads, dryads and triads." Defying all expectations, the Fey quickly worked their way into human cultures across the world. Even as exotic a creature as a tanuki could be found in nearly every urban center in Asia, or kokopelli in the United States Southwestern region. Their integration into human society was certainly helped by the subtle (and occasionally fantastical) magic of the creatures.

One thing that didn't help this process was the simple fact that legends slowly change, losing their accuracy bit by bit with each retelling. Pixies are nearly a foot tall and covered in fine, iridescent scales, rather than being the size of a thumb and a simple human with wings. Fauns are considerably more influenced by their caprine half, with an elongated face and oval pupils.

Men around the world rejoiced when the first water nymph appeared in 1967. Tales of beautiful women clad in flowing white silk whose magical powers stemmed from sexuality captivated their minds. Of course, just like any of the other Fey, the expectations were simply not to be met. Oh, they were beautiful... But more in the sense that a work of art or piece of music is beautiful. Springing forth from Greece, they quickly spread across the world, and made it abundantly clear that yes, they draw their healing magic from the power of lust and sex, but also revealing their exceptionally exotic and inhuman bodies, as well as the fact that their population is far from exclusively female.

Half a century later, the Fey number near the 7 million mark, making them not quite 0.1% of the population. Quite literally, they are one in a thousand, and each sub-species makes up an even smaller number within that 0.1%. As such, meeting with a Fey isn't rare, but it is always memorable.

And so, as you see me sitting at the bar, quietly trying to enjoy a beer and asking the bar tender if the silverware is aluminum or steel, no matter how unassuming my attitude is, I stick out like a sore thumb. At seven and a half feet tall, with soft but undeniably powerful muscles rolling gently beneath my smooth, glossy, lavender skin, and with my platinum-white mane and long, leonine tail curled around the leg of the bar stool, it is simply obvious that I'm a nymph. My long neck supports my trademark head, a unique blend of amphibious, draconic, and equine features. But my eyes, a deep, shadowy jade, lack something. It might not be immediately recognizable to most humans, but any Fey would immediately see the dullness and be struck with pained sympathy. A pixie need only tend a garden to maintain their magic. A satyr simply indulges in celebration. My needs are different. Once, it was easy for my kind to convince human passers by that they should not squander their chance at making love to a work of art, that they could not possibly regret such a moment, and that they could keep the story to themselves (or alter it however they pleased) if they so desired. Now, the secret of our appearance, our blatantly animalistic features, is common knowledge, and in the age of light speed communication and a camera in every pocket, no one dares give us what we need. Revulsion and the fear of ridicule are powerful forces. It's been two years since I've had any magic left in me, and in my race, that magic is one of healing. At my peak, I radiate wellness, curing illness with my mere presence. Given a few months and a steady supply of magic, I can even regrow a person's damaged or lost organs. Without my magic, I have a painful reminder of every bump, bruise and scrape I've sustained in the last two years, unable to even heal myself. I'm lucky I've not hurt my face or hands, though I've taken to wearing long sleeved shirts and jeans no matter the weather. If I had ever needed surgery, I'd be dead, my body unable to close the wounds. My eyes no longer shine like emeralds, both because of my condition and the stress of constant worry that it may never pass.


Modern Fantasy
Male character, seeking any






Dancing to the Beat of a Different Drum (Retired)

The Bard and his Muse


She's an enchantress. There's no other explanation for her unearthly beauty and supernatural charm.

Ah, but such thoughts can be nothing more than a waste of my time. A creature such as myself, a yinglet, is hardly ever even seen as more than a nuisance. While it's true that I have managed to claw my way into the world of humans through great effort and determination, the necessity for that effort and determination never faded. To most, I will never be more than a dirty little rat, a carrier of filth and disease with snagging, pick-pocketing claws. There's no chance at all, lest the gods themselves intervene, that she could ever see me as more than a friend at best.

Alas, I cannot rid myself of my desires. Perhaps if I were to profess my feelings outright, and allow them to be dashed against the ground, then I could move on, but I can't bring myself to do such a thing. Were someone to know my thoughts, I might be so lucky as to become the laughing stock of the town, or even luckier, just the King Crab Inn. At worst, I would run the risk of being driven from town or beaten to death.

It doesn't help that my thin lips, my oddly spaced teeth, and my long, verbally useless tongue leave me unable to convey my thoughts and feelings with any chance of being taken seriously. My poor grasp of the common language is just another barrier. But my music and my delicate, dexterous fingers working their magic upon my mandolin keep me from living on the streets or starving. Why, they brought me to her. My muse. My inspiration. My dancer. Perhaps my mandolin can bring me more. Or perhaps this is the wishful thinking of an infatuated mind.

As I strum the last chord of the last song for the evening, she gives her final twirl beside me. Coins arc through the air to land within my upended feathered cap as thanks for our show, and I give a polite bow of my head, even though I know that the coin is all thanks to her. The patrons slowly calm themselves, the night having grown old, and those who do not retire to their rooms grow quiet as they nurse their drinks.

I take a few moments to split our takings for the day, secretly giving her ever so slightly more than myself. She's twice my height and many times my weight after all; she needs just as much food as any human would, which is many times over what I could possibly consume. I know from experience that, if push comes to shove, I can raid one of the nearby poultry farms for chicken feed, and that will sustain me.

Something comes over me as the last coin falls into her pile on the table. Is it... Yes. Tonight is the night. I cannot bring myself to speak what I truly feel of course... I'm simply too meek a beast. But I can take the first step. Oh... but it is so difficult. She can nearly always understand my muddled speech, but it is still a source of insecurity for me. Yet I have no other options.

"...My lady. I zhink we haf made a good pull on ze piezes of money today! Iz such a good sing, iz it not? But I have made a even better idea for to pull on ze coin." I quietly pluck out a few notes of the piece I've been working on. "A new song andt danz! Iz egshotik... Exho--exotic, and lively! Pearhaps we can meet at ze room which iz mine tomorrow morn to zhare it and whurk on it togezher?"


Fantasy
Male character, seeking female






General Daxin's Offer (Retired)

The poster was simple, so as not to confuse the eye, and just a couple of hours ago, the town crier read it out for those who never had a chance to become literate. Such a population would be small in His Highness' kingdom, as King Julius III was always offering countless opportunities to his people in an effort to better his land as a whole, but in such a distant, outlying village, such people might still exist.

No one was surprised by a freshly offered opportunity for growth from His Highness. What had the town buzzing was the nature of the offering. As you now read the parchment, it becomes clear just what has everyone so excited.

Quote
Sir Farayl Regat Daxin, General of the Nou-Occitan Army, requests the presence of any man or woman who believes they possess a gift which would make them valuable as a member of Daxin's Myrmidons.

You've heard of the Myrmidons before... A small collection of people, perhaps three dozens, all of whom answer only to General Daxin and the King himself. Unbound by law, when they aren't taking orders, they roam the land and far beyond, searching for ways to serve the people. Daeva, the sorceress, only two months ago ended a year long drought in the northern province. Last week, Neil the Rogue was heard from for the first time in almost two years, announcing that he'd successfully 'acquired' half a dozen ancient artifacts which had fallen into the hands of powerful evildoers. Brillien the Paladin just passed through your town last season on his way to end a series of gnoll raids on a nearby village. These people are unique, varied, and very special.

Quote
In two days time, the General's proxy will arrive to take preliminary auditions, and will provide transport for those who show promise. Any who pass these preliminaries, but for whatever reason does not qualify for a position among the Myrmidons, will be sent home with a considerable compensation of coin. The General hopes that such a promise will ensure that anyone who believes they can serve the Kingdom in such a potent and important way will audition, regardless of financial or social standing.

The poster ends with General Daxin's formal signature, immediately alongside his informal one; marked with brilliant scarlet ink is a massive hand print, instantly recognizable as the General's by the course paw-pads and dagger-like claws upon three long, dexterous, dangerous fingers and single opposable thumb. It's true that the Sergals had forged peaceful relations with the Kingdom of Nou-Occitan nearly a decade ago, but some still feared Daxin's kind.

Will you show yourself to be unique enough to be worthy of training among the Myrmidons? Will you even be able to look past the General's hide to see the man beneath?

General Sir Farayl Regat Daxin

Fantasy
Male character, seeking any





Mammalian Standards of Femininity (Retired)


Tagtheratrix the Scrivener (Closed)

I stare at you from the other side of the cell, my citrine eyes with slit pupils almost seeming to glow in the low light, the torch beyond the door casting just enough light into the room to make the ashen gray of my scales visible. My gaze flickers across you, trying to get a bearing on precisely what sort of assets you might be able to provide in helping me to escape. My thoughts are interrupted by the odor that wafts off of you, making me recoil in disgust "Oh-- In the name of all things precious, why did they throw a human in with me? Whoof, at least you're not as vile as the goblins that threw us in here. You've probably bathed at least once in your life, right? Better than them. Credit where credit is due." I look off to the side as I grimace, still trying to ignore the sour stench of goblin, the new layer of your scent helping despite being not at all pleasant itself.

I catch the look of incredulity upon your face, and look around for a moment, trying to find what's surprised you. When the source of your shock becomes clear, I roll my eyes and sneer. "What, didn't expect a girl's voice out of me? Yes, I'm a woman." I point at you with both hands, taking out my frustration with being captured upon you. "You." I cup my hands against my flat chest, as though I'm supporting a pair of massive breasts. "Mammal." I point a pair of thumbs back at myself, my voice and expression simply oozing with biting sarcasm. "Me. Reptile." I pound my chest with a fist, demonstrating clearly that I possess none of the weak, sensitive mammary glands you humans are so fixated upon. I cup my chest again and put on a stupid face and voice, my tongue hanging out the side of my muzzle. "Ooh, look at me, I'm a hoomahn! I think anything without tits has a dick!"

I cross my arms with a huff and stare up at the heavy stone door that closed behind you. A few moments later, my gaze falls to the floor. "That was unnecessary and unkind. I've just been in here for a while, and it's starting to get to me. You didn't deserve that." I roll my eyes up to the ceiling, feeling like an absolute moron. "...Sorry."

Finally, I look back over to you, my hands falling casually to the floor to support me as I lean back. "Look. Here's the rub. The goblins were dumb enough to let me keep my clothes, not realizing that I'm a scrivener..." I close my eyes and shake my head. "Right. Scrivener. It's a kobold thing. Ok... Wizards keep their magic in their minds, sorcerers hold it in their blood, paladins and clerics call upon it from their gods, druids draw it from nature, and bards don't count." I smirk at my little joke before going on. "Scriveners call upon writing to hold onto their magic." I pull the collar of my vest away from my neck, revealing a set of draconic runes stitched into the fabric with fine golden thread. "I've got a few good utility spells left in my clothes, but I used up all of the combat spells trying to avoid capture. That definitely worked out well." I give a short chuckle, trying to lift my spirits and perhaps make my cell mate more receptive to partnering up with me. "I can get us out of this cell and past any other doors we come across, make sure that we have a shot at avoiding one instance of being spotted, and then maybe provide some sort of help and support to you if I'm clever."

"There are two problems that I absolutely can't solve on my own. One is that we'll have to deal with more than one set of guards. The other is that my scriptor-- Oh, uh, the tool I use for stitching, tattooing, and calligraphy-- is in the locker on the other side of this door,  and the key to that locker is hung on a peg about seven feet off the ground." I shake my head in frustration, trying desperately to figure out what can be done. "I have no idea how to get past all the guards, and there's no way I could reach those keys..." I look at you, epiphany making my eyes go wide for a moment before they fall shut as I realize my idiocy. "...Right. Once we're out of the cell, you could just grab them, couldn't you? Well, that's one problem down..."


Tagtheratrix the Shrike (Closed)

I have grown so incredibly weary of working with mammals. It's a damn shame that all of the good money to be had is on the surface. I almost wish that I wasn't gifted with such an extraordinary resistance to sunlight; I'd have an excuse to stay in the mines with my own kind, rather than venture out into the sun to find a "better life."

Of course, that's an exaggeration. As a hatchling and well into my adolescence, I'd always hated the idea of being stuck working in the mines. Day in, day out, pretending to enjoy singing those stupid songs while wearing your body thin against the stone, hoping one day that among the countless tons of coal being ripped out of the walls, you'd be the one to find the diamond that would let you out of hell.

Then the surface breach happened. Poor planning and incompetence lead several dozen miners to dig too close to the surface, and the soil above collapsed in on them, exposing them all to direct sunlight. The shrill cries of shock and pain carried far and wide through the caves, and I was among the many that flocked to the spectacle. Onlookers stared for as long as they could before they had to look away, the searing light burning their eyes. The victims were still writhing in pain, even their clenched eyelids not enough to block out the blinding light. Without a thought, I strode out into the fray, and began tying the emergency blindfolds and guiding the miners back into the safety of the darkness. Some people say that my eyes looked otherworldly and foreign, pupils constricted to tiny slits to protect me.

I felt such guilt as dozens of impoverished families, in an effort to show their gratitude for saving their loved ones from permanent blindness, scrimped and saved and scraped together every extra copper piece they had to give to me. I tried desperately to turn down the offers, but they simply wouldn't listen. Before long, coin pouches with no clues as to who had left them began to accumulate at the entrance to my burrow. Finally, I simply gave up, donated half of the money to the hospitals that had treated the injured, and used the remaining cash to get the hell out of dodge.

Of the surface dwelling races, the halflings are the most likely to show some level of respect. They know full well that being such a small creature hardly means that one poses no threat. At least, they show decency until they find out that I'm not a thief for hire, but a blade. Then the laughter comes. Usually all it takes to get them to shut their faces is to remind them of how I got the title of Shrike. There's a very good reason I'm named after a bird that impales its prey upon thorns for later meals. The Elves are fair, but that's simply because they have equal disdain for everyone that isn't Elvish.

Humans are fascinating to me though. I mean, I don't like them, but they can at least be entertaining. So focused are they upon the male and female form, so hierarchical are they when it comes to age and size and strength, that they nearly always misjudge me at first sight. The number of times I've heard variations on "Young lad, it's dangerous to play with a sword like that! Where are your parents?!" is simply staggering. I'll give them credit though; they have the decency to turn beet red and stumble wildly over their rushed apologies when they hear the voice of a 25 year old woman calmly correct them.

So here I am, in the human city of Greyston, standing upon a stool at the merc's booth in the market square just to be seen in the crowd. I'm here in the hopes of landing a good gig, perhaps as a carriage escort or as a bodyguard. Even being hired to deal with a small goblin or trog infestation would be pleasant enough. I might even get to work as part of a team, giving me a chance to show off a bit. Of course, part of me is also looking forward to someone giving me a pat on the head and asking me if I'm having fun pretending to be a big bad merc like the other men. I really do enjoy leaving someone twice my size flustered and embarrassed.

Fantasy
Female character, seeking any




Schwartzchild-Kugelblitz or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Humans (Retired)

It's been nearly a century since first contact. Despite what both human and slizst fiction might have led us to believe, the first time we met an intelligent race aside from our own was not at all glamorous or miraculous. Neither of us brought the other FTL technology. We didn't bring humanity a cure for cancer, nor did humans deliver a treatment for deleria. Really, there was only one aspect of first contact that fit with our preconceived notions of what it should be like; the humans 'came in peace.'

All of this isn't to say that it wasn't incredible, nor was the exchange of technology and culture without incredible boons. It was still an unbelievable shock to actually find that life existed elsewhere in the universe, especially within our own solar system. That it was intelligent life was even more staggering. The two things that really made their mark though were these; the slizst had always been under the impression that, if life were to be discovered, it would be deep within their home world, Ganymede, and humanity had thought that intelligent life, when discovered, would not be in the midst of the most devastating disaster the race had ever encountered.

The slizst had evolved beneath the frozen stone surface of Ganymede. The world was small enough that radio hadn't seemed necessary, and had been relegated to the realm of 'fascinating, but very niche in its uses.' Virtually every piece of information that needed to be sent from one place to another was transmitted by wire. It is no wonder, then, that they never detected the deluge of radio signals pouring out of the third planet in the solar system, and it explained why earth, with its endless arrays of radio telescopes, never detected a single message.

What they did detect was a massive, unexpected burst of gamma radiation from a previously undetected object in orbit around Jupiter. When every available telescope swiveled to point at the source, all that was seen was a cloud of metal vapor: mostly iron, lead, a little copper, and plenty of carbon. The newly formed Earth Solar Exploration Agency (precursor to the Terran Extrasolar Agency) immediately assembled a team of top-notch professionals to take the two year long journey to Jupiter.

When they finally arrived, what they discovered shocked both worlds. A massive crack had formed in Ganymede's crust, revealing a seemingly endless catacomb of caves... Caves which were filled to the brim with a dying race of upright, intelligent reptiles.

It took the most talented linguists of both cultures months to bridge the language gap, but once it was done, the nature of the situation became clear. The slizst had successfully built the first ever kugelblitz generator, a seemingly endless source of energy based upon the steady decay of a microscopic singularity. Six earth years after its creation, however, for reasons unknown, the singularity destabilized, and tore free of its bonds, launching through the crust of Ganymede. It dragged along with it several tons of the equipment that had been used to contain it, and then evaporated in a burst of radiation. The people of Ganymede were blasted with gamma rays, and were still, years later, suffering the aftershocks and the fallout.

Years of deliberation on earth dragged by as the slizst continued to struggle. Finally, a massive relocation program was given the green light, and within the next year, the entire population of Ganymede was evacuated to earth.

With the two races working in tandem, the problems that had led to the destruction of the kugelblitz were solved, and the first schwartzchild-kugelblitz was created. It was only a matter of time before humanity would fling itself at the stars, held up by the thankful hands of its newest comrades.
IIIII
On a vessel with a crew of nearly four thousand, it's statistically reasonable to assume that between three and five slizst names would appear on the roster. Such a ratio would be roughly in line with the human/slizst population proportion back on Earth, after adjustment for my people's relative inexperience with space travel. Of course, this is only an estimate, and so it's really no surprise that I alone make up half of the slizst crew on the Racc'hik. It just strikes me as a bit ironic that the first TEA vessel to be given a slizst name would also have a statistically unreasonably small slizst crew. This doesn't bother me too terribly, though it's a shame that the other half of my race here is... Well. Grouchy would be a compliment. Either bitter or spiteful is probably more accurate.

They-- biologists, sociologists, psychologists-- aren't quite sure what causes inter-species attraction. It's rare enough that it doesn't get much attention except as whispers and suspicions. One particularly hopeful theory is that an intelligent creature is naturally attracted to a personality, a "soul" so to speak, regardless of what body it inhabits. Another, which I tend to think is a bit more likely, is that the natural urge to procreate starts to go a bit askew when one is isolated from their own kind for too long, whether that be simply living in a world with a population ratio of a thousand to one, or being stuck on a vessel for several years without any other members of your own race to even talk to... But this is a silly thing to spend my time thinking about. I don't have to deal with such things. Really. I'm sure. The crew mate that I find myself encountering often, both on and off duty, that I find myself staring at on occasion, that I've had certain, unhealthy dreams about... They're just a casual acquaintance and a reliable coworker.

Maybe I should speak to the councilor. We've just finished our supply drop at the mining colony on Ceres, and are on our way to Jupiter Station for refueling and a bout of shore leave before the long trek out to the science outpost of Eris. It's really not a problem, but I shouldn't take any chances at ruining the next few years.


Science Fiction
Any, seeking any
« Last Edit: September 23, 2017, 03:00:00 PM by TSElephant »

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #4 on: April 07, 2016, 12:51:40 PM »
Updated with clarifications to "schwartzchild-kugelblitz," as well as performing a bit of clean up and applying some polish.

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #5 on: April 11, 2016, 06:02:24 PM »
Reordered the prompts, edited wording and phrasing for clarity, edited layout for cleanliness, changed open and closed statuses for prompts.

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #6 on: April 13, 2016, 04:39:00 PM »
Added the "Reality is Stranger than Fiction" prompt. Show Aurelius some love! <3

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #7 on: April 16, 2016, 01:24:05 AM »
Updated with clarified, more consistent formatting, as well as fresh open/closed statuses.

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #8 on: April 16, 2016, 08:59:19 PM »
Added "Anomalous Gravitation."

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #9 on: April 22, 2016, 08:06:16 PM »
Updated with a new section for image-only prompts.

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #10 on: April 27, 2016, 04:37:59 PM »
Updated with "The Gift of New Experiences."

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #11 on: April 27, 2016, 08:51:40 PM »
Added the "Different Drum" prompt.

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Re: TSE's List o' Prompts (Open to all!)
« Reply #12 on: May 14, 2016, 11:15:43 PM »
Added "The Chill of Brokenness."

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Re: TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)
« Reply #13 on: May 15, 2016, 03:52:59 PM »
Dramatically updated overall layout. Added new "PlotLite" category, cleaned up formatting, etc.

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Re: TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)
« Reply #14 on: September 09, 2017, 11:16:52 AM »
Added the "Isolated First Contact" prompt.

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Re: TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)
« Reply #15 on: September 10, 2017, 03:39:32 PM »
Added the "Barclay's Disorder" prompt.

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Re: TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)
« Reply #16 on: September 13, 2017, 04:10:17 PM »
Added Lieutenant Zmeya Volkov to "Barclay's Disorder."

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Re: TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)
« Reply #17 on: September 15, 2017, 04:27:00 PM »
Added, "Reduced to a Mere Princess."

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

  • ~~ Not a Human ~~ Sneezes are quite similar to orgasms, aren't they?
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Re: TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)
« Reply #18 on: September 22, 2017, 11:35:08 PM »
Added the prompt, "To Sate the Beast."

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

  • ~~ Not a Human ~~ Sneezes are quite similar to orgasms, aren't they?
  • Liege
  • Enchanted
  • *
  • Join Date: Aug 2014
  • Location: The TWERK ZONE
  • Both, if they're good, are loud and messy.
  • My Role Play Preferences
  • View My Rolls
  • Referrals: 1
Re: TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)
« Reply #19 on: September 23, 2017, 04:17:54 PM »
Major layout overhaul. Also, added "Leslie Richardson" under "Barclay's Disorder."

Offline TSElephantTopic starter

  • ~~ Not a Human ~~ Sneezes are quite similar to orgasms, aren't they?
  • Liege
  • Enchanted
  • *
  • Join Date: Aug 2014
  • Location: The TWERK ZONE
  • Both, if they're good, are loud and messy.
  • My Role Play Preferences
  • View My Rolls
  • Referrals: 1
Re: TSE's Terrifically Titillating Titles (Open to all!)
« Reply #20 on: September 26, 2017, 02:37:26 PM »
Added "Zach Milacek" under "Barclay's Disorder," and "Literal Alpha" in "Misc."