Sia
❀->–
Hello, my friends! Welcome to my search.
I’m looking someone who can mirror a lot of what I can do, so if you match up pretty well with my writing style, then awesome! Send me a PM, and we can work out the finer tunings from there.
My Writing Style and Expectations:
Plot Ideas and Pairings:
Writing Sample:
If none of these interest you, please feel free to suggest a plot or pairing of your own! My favorite genres are historical/medieval and post apocalyptic, but I'm open to pretty much anything as long as it isn't too far into the fantasy genre. Thanks!
--Spottedbark
I’m looking someone who can mirror a lot of what I can do, so if you match up pretty well with my writing style, then awesome! Send me a PM, and we can work out the finer tunings from there.
My Writing Style and Expectations:
- I like both quality and quantity.
- Please use third person, past tense, paragraph format.
- I would love it if we could post at least once a week.
- I love beautiful writing.
- I like to drag my characters through hell and back.
- I use two different PM threads for IC and OOC.
- Role-plays are a collaboration, so let's work together.
- All site rules apply.
- M/F only.
- Fade to black.
- No drugs unless it's for medical use.
- No smut.
- Keep the language fairly clean.
Plot Ideas and Pairings:
Shipwrecked
Muse A has been living on ships his whole life, earning his way up the ranks painstakingly slowly to a first mate’s position. He was promised a captain’s position after his last mission, but to his frustration, he was denied yet again in favor of a young noble who is a cousin to the crown, a cad with no real experience what-so-ever. Despite this mistreatment, he must go, if nothing more but for the considerable pay.
Muse A’s mission is simple: deliver Muse B, the kingdom’s princess, safely across the sea to her intended’s kingdom. Like Muse A, Muse B’s dismal situation isn’t within her power to change. While Muse A struggles to submit under the abysmal leadership of the captain, Muse B grapples with the uncertainty of her future with the foreign king, doing her best to mentally prepare her free spirit for a suffocating marriage.
One night, a storm approaches, and because of the captain's poor decisions, the ship is blown terribly off course and smashes against the rocks of an unmapped shoal. Can the survivors make it back alive, or are they doomed to die on an island where no one will ever think to find them?
Note: I'm already in an active rp playing Muse A, so if you'd like to write this plot with me, please be willing and fully capable of playing Muse A. That includes knowing your way around a ship and being able to write Muse A's role and dilemma with confidence. Everything else regarding his life is up to your interpretation.
Muse A has been living on ships his whole life, earning his way up the ranks painstakingly slowly to a first mate’s position. He was promised a captain’s position after his last mission, but to his frustration, he was denied yet again in favor of a young noble who is a cousin to the crown, a cad with no real experience what-so-ever. Despite this mistreatment, he must go, if nothing more but for the considerable pay.
Muse A’s mission is simple: deliver Muse B, the kingdom’s princess, safely across the sea to her intended’s kingdom. Like Muse A, Muse B’s dismal situation isn’t within her power to change. While Muse A struggles to submit under the abysmal leadership of the captain, Muse B grapples with the uncertainty of her future with the foreign king, doing her best to mentally prepare her free spirit for a suffocating marriage.
One night, a storm approaches, and because of the captain's poor decisions, the ship is blown terribly off course and smashes against the rocks of an unmapped shoal. Can the survivors make it back alive, or are they doomed to die on an island where no one will ever think to find them?
Note: I'm already in an active rp playing Muse A, so if you'd like to write this plot with me, please be willing and fully capable of playing Muse A. That includes knowing your way around a ship and being able to write Muse A's role and dilemma with confidence. Everything else regarding his life is up to your interpretation.
The Key Master
Under the full-blown attack of the zombie apocalypse, humanity has banded together in hopes of survival. The railroads have been revived, and each of the stations, called spires, have built up the walls around their residencies in an attempt to keep out the threat. Each spire has their own form of government, but each one must adhere to The Pact, which was written by the founders of the spires. The Pact outlines the treaty of trade, the rules of diplomacy, and common courtesy.
It's only been recently since the zombies have started gaining intelligence. They're smarter, faster, and harder to kill, which has resulted in the demolition of a few of the spires. Once that happens, there is no hope of reclaiming it. Those who have escaped by means of their heavily-armored and technologically advanced locomotives are left at the mercy of the other spires, who, according to The Pact, can choose to admit which citizens they want when the train comes to their spire. Those who are too old, too sick, or just plain useless are left to fend for themselves.
Muse A is one of these: an engineer and soldier. He's smart, one-of-a-kind, but after losing a limb in the attack of his spire, his future has been stolen from him. While he healed, for months his train travelled, and after each spire, less and less of his people remained. After every other engineer was chosen, the master key fell into his lap. It's the very thing that transforms the lifeless snake of metal into an efficient, sophisticated mode of transportation. The once-coveted tool belonged to the conductor of the train, something that he used to dream about being since joining the ranks.
The Engineer, even though he's lost everything, has taken it upon himself to keep the remainder of his broken, battered people alive for as long as possible. He is the only certified engineer left, and he is his spire's last hope because once he is chosen or dies, the train belongs to the nearest spire, and any unwanted inhabitants are abandoned to the outside.
One day, his train enters a spire for Pact-issued courtesy maintenance. As his first time standing in the conductor's position, he is surprised to find that the governess, Muse B, is young as well, and inexperienced with the unexpected visit. Her position has also been newly-inherited, and she, too, has a big heart, against her advisors' judgements.
Note: Muse A's role will include his struggle to cope with his newly-lost limb, as well as a stubbornness to protect his people. His position is already pretty defined, but if you play him, I'd love it if you'd put your own spin on his character. Muse B's is pretty open-ended. Whoever plays her will be mostly responsible for creating the world of her spire. That includes inventing traditions, protocols, and culture. If you need help with that, I have some ideas.
Under the full-blown attack of the zombie apocalypse, humanity has banded together in hopes of survival. The railroads have been revived, and each of the stations, called spires, have built up the walls around their residencies in an attempt to keep out the threat. Each spire has their own form of government, but each one must adhere to The Pact, which was written by the founders of the spires. The Pact outlines the treaty of trade, the rules of diplomacy, and common courtesy.
It's only been recently since the zombies have started gaining intelligence. They're smarter, faster, and harder to kill, which has resulted in the demolition of a few of the spires. Once that happens, there is no hope of reclaiming it. Those who have escaped by means of their heavily-armored and technologically advanced locomotives are left at the mercy of the other spires, who, according to The Pact, can choose to admit which citizens they want when the train comes to their spire. Those who are too old, too sick, or just plain useless are left to fend for themselves.
Muse A is one of these: an engineer and soldier. He's smart, one-of-a-kind, but after losing a limb in the attack of his spire, his future has been stolen from him. While he healed, for months his train travelled, and after each spire, less and less of his people remained. After every other engineer was chosen, the master key fell into his lap. It's the very thing that transforms the lifeless snake of metal into an efficient, sophisticated mode of transportation. The once-coveted tool belonged to the conductor of the train, something that he used to dream about being since joining the ranks.
The Engineer, even though he's lost everything, has taken it upon himself to keep the remainder of his broken, battered people alive for as long as possible. He is the only certified engineer left, and he is his spire's last hope because once he is chosen or dies, the train belongs to the nearest spire, and any unwanted inhabitants are abandoned to the outside.
One day, his train enters a spire for Pact-issued courtesy maintenance. As his first time standing in the conductor's position, he is surprised to find that the governess, Muse B, is young as well, and inexperienced with the unexpected visit. Her position has also been newly-inherited, and she, too, has a big heart, against her advisors' judgements.
Note: Muse A's role will include his struggle to cope with his newly-lost limb, as well as a stubbornness to protect his people. His position is already pretty defined, but if you play him, I'd love it if you'd put your own spin on his character. Muse B's is pretty open-ended. Whoever plays her will be mostly responsible for creating the world of her spire. That includes inventing traditions, protocols, and culture. If you need help with that, I have some ideas.
Rags in Seoul
Muse A has an undeveloped talent for composing, but when she moves to Seoul and starts auditioning for a place in the extremely competitive world K-pop, she is rejected every time for one reason or another. Nevertheless, she is passionate about her dream, and makes ends meet by playing in coffee shops. One night, though, she plays in a fancy restaurant. Bored of the approved song list that she's already played several times over, she decides to play something she's written. The song disrupts the mood of the room, and she's fired because of it.
Little does she know, Muse B, one of the industry's stars, was present for her performance. He's a modest person despite the fame, but more than anything, he feels exhausted over the pressures of paying back his company for his trainee days. Stuck on his next album, he finds inspiration in Muse A, but when he chases after her, she's already gone.
Note: This will be a very loose, modern retelling of Cinderella. If we set this in Seoul, please be at least a little familiar with Korean customs and their music industry. We can also set this in another city, if need be. If you stan a particular group or idol, I wouldn't mind making this a fandom rp. The group I know the best is Seventeen.
Muse A has an undeveloped talent for composing, but when she moves to Seoul and starts auditioning for a place in the extremely competitive world K-pop, she is rejected every time for one reason or another. Nevertheless, she is passionate about her dream, and makes ends meet by playing in coffee shops. One night, though, she plays in a fancy restaurant. Bored of the approved song list that she's already played several times over, she decides to play something she's written. The song disrupts the mood of the room, and she's fired because of it.
Little does she know, Muse B, one of the industry's stars, was present for her performance. He's a modest person despite the fame, but more than anything, he feels exhausted over the pressures of paying back his company for his trainee days. Stuck on his next album, he finds inspiration in Muse A, but when he chases after her, she's already gone.
Note: This will be a very loose, modern retelling of Cinderella. If we set this in Seoul, please be at least a little familiar with Korean customs and their music industry. We can also set this in another city, if need be. If you stan a particular group or idol, I wouldn't mind making this a fandom rp. The group I know the best is Seventeen.
Princess x Knight
Wounded Knight x Princess/Apprentice Healer
Princess x Commoner/Mercenary
Plantation owner's daughter x slave/union soldier
Victorian
Wounded Knight x Princess/Apprentice Healer
Princess x Commoner/Mercenary
Plantation owner's daughter x slave/union soldier
Victorian
Writing Sample:
Adrenaline pumped through his veins as Sebastian stared down into the dark hole. He, Marcello, and Dante were standing at the top of an old apartment complex, listening to the breathing and scraping of the humanoid beasts below. The stench of the place was hair-curling, but at least they'd found the right place. The hive would be stirring soon, which meant that now was the time to act.
Sebastian pulled at the two carabiner clips on his harness, handing one to each of his anchors. Marcello and Dante slipped them through their own harnesses and attached the clip to rings they'd implanted in the concrete. Despite the technological advances the Dome had made, resources in this decimated world were scarce, and many hell-divers, himself included, preferred to do things the old-fashioned way, where they were less likely to receive crippling pay cuts if they lost any gear.
“There are four stories,” reminded Titus through his earpiece, “I’ve set your explosives to fifty percent, so two on each floor will do the trick.” Sebastian sent a small salute and an affirmative answer in the man’s direction, up top on another roof with his holographic scanning systems safe and out of the way.
With a small nod to his teammates, Sebastian stepped out over the gap, his weight supported by Dante and Marcello. He dropped, and the two anchors scrambled to adjust the tensions before he slipped down too far. He clenched his teeth to prevent biting off his tongue and waited for the jolting hold of the ropes. Then, he tapped his watch twice to tell his men to bring him up two feet to correct for the initial drop.
By the blueprinting of the complex, Sebastian knew that this hole went all the way down to the second floor, so they would have to sweep the first floor later. Sebastian reoriented himself, manipulating his harness so he descended stomach-first. Through his night-vision goggles, Sebastian spotted the beasts, huddled in the corners and on top of one another. They were grotesque, merely skeletons of rotting flesh and marled bone, with hollow cheeks and inhumanely long lifespans, their colors only slightly muted by the goggles. The stench itself, even through his mask, was far worse down here, but this was what he'd been trained for.
Sebastian detached the first bomb from his belt, pressing it to the wall, and waited a second for the quiet whirr, pop of the suction. When it came, he squeezed the two ignition buttons until the light turned red. Then, he kicked off the wall, feeling his anchors adjusting their ropes to accommodate the turn, and he landed quietly at the opposite wall.
The suction technology on his left gauntlet allowed him to hang on long enough to attach another gas bomb on the other side of the building, beasties just feet below him. He’d long since been desensitized to the fact that each virus-ridden beastie had once been human, but the thought that he might be next still plagued him, especially now that he worked in such close-quarters with them.
Sebastian lowered himself down from floor to floor, swinging slightly from each push-off. For the fullest impact, these bombs would have to be as close to the sleeping bodies as possible, and the father down they went, the more powerful the beast. The second floor occupied many of the males. These were the warrior class, but their immune systems could withstand a bit more than the weak ones on the higher floors. "To your left, Martinez,” suggested Titus through the headset, and Sebastian held a breath, spotting what the strategist had seen.
To his left was the king of the hive, a massive pile of rotting flesh and bones, the telltale red veins visible though his papery thin skin. These ones were particularly hard to kill because each one had their own weak spots. Sebastian used his gauntlet to slowly gravitate towards the beast. His toes tingling, he inched closer and closer until he could reach the wall right by the monster’s head. He pressed the bomb to the wall, and then there was the soft whirr and pop.
The beastie snorted out a nose-full of hot, disease-ridden air that was so foul that Sebastian gagged. He could almost feel the virus seeping into his pores. The hell-diver contained a shudder, and then he reached out, holding down the ignition buttons until the light blinked red.
That wasn’t the only thing that blinked, however. Sebastian’s eyes shifted back to the king, who watched him with its virus-crazed gaze. Then, the beastie moved. His claw-like hand shot out, nearly missing Sebastian's head, and he felt the long, disgusting nails scrape over the right shoulder blade of his protective vest, tearing it straight through to the metal plates and grazing his neck. Titus was already yelling for Marcello and Dante, “Get him up, they’ve got him!”
The king roared as Sebastian swung wildly back out. The place sprang to life! Beasties grabbed at empty air for him, but as soon as he’d been pulled up to the third floor, the gas bombs exploded. Sebastian held his breath on instinct, closing his eyes against the purple smoke even though he wore goggles and a mask. The smoke was strong enough to kill hell-divers as much as the beasties, and he wasn’t inclined to die today.
Sebastian felt a sudden weight drag at his ropes. He swung out haphazardly, fear sharpening his mind. He used the momentum to kick a fume-stunned beast squealing down to the second floor, glancing upwards to gage the situation above. A beast had leaped from the fourth floor and grabbed onto the ropes. He reached out for his hand-gun, flipping face-up despite his injured shoulder to get a clear shot at the beast. I am not done yet.
Sebastian shot at the beast, hitting the flesh of its arm, its leg, until it finally let go and fell. Sebastian batted it away with his gauntlet arm on the way down, and then Dante and Marcello were hauling him up again. His eyes burned and watered, even through the goggle's protection. The conscious beasts grabbed at his feet even as they suffered the agony of the purple fog, but Sebastian kicked them away, emptying his magazine into the fray. Then, he was up and out of the hole. Alive.
There was no time to waste. Dante and Marcello quickly detached themselves from the clips in a matter of seconds, and then they were off, headed by zip-line to their next posts on the ground. The king roared again, chilling Sebastian's bones, and he knew that it wasn't over yet. The rest of the hive was already swarming, and those on the first floor came out to play. Titus didn't have to tell his men to fire. The air became a chorus of gunfire and beastie noises.
"Where do you need me, Titus?" Asked Sebastian, speaking into his comms-link and turning off the night-vision to his goggles. His wound was beginning to itch. It was a bad sign, but he couldn’t worry about that, now. There was a hive to decimate.
“If you can, sit tight and shoot at what you can see, kid,” Titus instructed in between orders to the other members of the platoon, “The statistics on that wound of yours… it’s not looking too great.”
The resignation in his superior’s voice prompted Sebastian to reach back, and his gauntlet came away bloody with clots. His vision swam and he stumbled, the itch transitioning into a burning sensation. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but that only disoriented him. He fell to his knees, the ground no longer even beneath his feet. He could feel every vein, every drop of fiery, contaminated blood as his heart pumped it further and further within his system. Every piece of information he’d been taught flooded through his mind, like how he only had about a minute more from the time he was scratched for the blood to reach his brain and how the doctors couldn’t always keep up with the vaccinations for the new strains.
A lump settled in his throat. Titus had given up on him, and Dante and Marcello had left him to die.
Anger flared within him, but he wouldn’t waste his last moments of sanity. At most, he had to prolong his turning as long as he could. Sebastian reached for his waist and pulled at his belt, freeing the leather strip and pulling it tightly around his neck. He cried out in agony as the virus attacked his heart, but the pain cleared his head, even for a moment.
His eyes located one of the metal rings the anchors had left into the concrete, and he slipped the tail end of the belt through it, using the extra leverage to pull the belt tighter around his neck. His vision swam again, but he reminded himself that choking to death would hypothetically be longer than the turning, and when he did turn, at least he would die soon enough.
His whole being throbbing, he pulled the belt tighter, the clasp cinching it adequately. The virus met the belt, and Sebastian growled, planting his foot against the the building’s lip. He pulled with all his might, praying that it would hold, that cutting off his circulation would be enough. The virus throbbed to the tips of his toes, and his arms began to feel sluggish, unable to grip the belt any more. He slumped back, completely consumed by the agony, his body convulsing.
His vision flickered white, and then the virus halted. He watched the sky as the purple mists mingled with the brown of the ever-present toxic fog. His head still pounded, but it was the kind that ensued after oxygen deprivation. He’d done it, but he no longer had the strength to fight. His vision faded, and he slipped into darkness.
The next sounds he heard were of the hospital’s machines. He felt nothing, but there was only one thought filling his mind: I am alive. I am sane.
Sebastian pulled at the two carabiner clips on his harness, handing one to each of his anchors. Marcello and Dante slipped them through their own harnesses and attached the clip to rings they'd implanted in the concrete. Despite the technological advances the Dome had made, resources in this decimated world were scarce, and many hell-divers, himself included, preferred to do things the old-fashioned way, where they were less likely to receive crippling pay cuts if they lost any gear.
“There are four stories,” reminded Titus through his earpiece, “I’ve set your explosives to fifty percent, so two on each floor will do the trick.” Sebastian sent a small salute and an affirmative answer in the man’s direction, up top on another roof with his holographic scanning systems safe and out of the way.
With a small nod to his teammates, Sebastian stepped out over the gap, his weight supported by Dante and Marcello. He dropped, and the two anchors scrambled to adjust the tensions before he slipped down too far. He clenched his teeth to prevent biting off his tongue and waited for the jolting hold of the ropes. Then, he tapped his watch twice to tell his men to bring him up two feet to correct for the initial drop.
By the blueprinting of the complex, Sebastian knew that this hole went all the way down to the second floor, so they would have to sweep the first floor later. Sebastian reoriented himself, manipulating his harness so he descended stomach-first. Through his night-vision goggles, Sebastian spotted the beasts, huddled in the corners and on top of one another. They were grotesque, merely skeletons of rotting flesh and marled bone, with hollow cheeks and inhumanely long lifespans, their colors only slightly muted by the goggles. The stench itself, even through his mask, was far worse down here, but this was what he'd been trained for.
Sebastian detached the first bomb from his belt, pressing it to the wall, and waited a second for the quiet whirr, pop of the suction. When it came, he squeezed the two ignition buttons until the light turned red. Then, he kicked off the wall, feeling his anchors adjusting their ropes to accommodate the turn, and he landed quietly at the opposite wall.
The suction technology on his left gauntlet allowed him to hang on long enough to attach another gas bomb on the other side of the building, beasties just feet below him. He’d long since been desensitized to the fact that each virus-ridden beastie had once been human, but the thought that he might be next still plagued him, especially now that he worked in such close-quarters with them.
Sebastian lowered himself down from floor to floor, swinging slightly from each push-off. For the fullest impact, these bombs would have to be as close to the sleeping bodies as possible, and the father down they went, the more powerful the beast. The second floor occupied many of the males. These were the warrior class, but their immune systems could withstand a bit more than the weak ones on the higher floors. "To your left, Martinez,” suggested Titus through the headset, and Sebastian held a breath, spotting what the strategist had seen.
To his left was the king of the hive, a massive pile of rotting flesh and bones, the telltale red veins visible though his papery thin skin. These ones were particularly hard to kill because each one had their own weak spots. Sebastian used his gauntlet to slowly gravitate towards the beast. His toes tingling, he inched closer and closer until he could reach the wall right by the monster’s head. He pressed the bomb to the wall, and then there was the soft whirr and pop.
The beastie snorted out a nose-full of hot, disease-ridden air that was so foul that Sebastian gagged. He could almost feel the virus seeping into his pores. The hell-diver contained a shudder, and then he reached out, holding down the ignition buttons until the light blinked red.
That wasn’t the only thing that blinked, however. Sebastian’s eyes shifted back to the king, who watched him with its virus-crazed gaze. Then, the beastie moved. His claw-like hand shot out, nearly missing Sebastian's head, and he felt the long, disgusting nails scrape over the right shoulder blade of his protective vest, tearing it straight through to the metal plates and grazing his neck. Titus was already yelling for Marcello and Dante, “Get him up, they’ve got him!”
The king roared as Sebastian swung wildly back out. The place sprang to life! Beasties grabbed at empty air for him, but as soon as he’d been pulled up to the third floor, the gas bombs exploded. Sebastian held his breath on instinct, closing his eyes against the purple smoke even though he wore goggles and a mask. The smoke was strong enough to kill hell-divers as much as the beasties, and he wasn’t inclined to die today.
Sebastian felt a sudden weight drag at his ropes. He swung out haphazardly, fear sharpening his mind. He used the momentum to kick a fume-stunned beast squealing down to the second floor, glancing upwards to gage the situation above. A beast had leaped from the fourth floor and grabbed onto the ropes. He reached out for his hand-gun, flipping face-up despite his injured shoulder to get a clear shot at the beast. I am not done yet.
Sebastian shot at the beast, hitting the flesh of its arm, its leg, until it finally let go and fell. Sebastian batted it away with his gauntlet arm on the way down, and then Dante and Marcello were hauling him up again. His eyes burned and watered, even through the goggle's protection. The conscious beasts grabbed at his feet even as they suffered the agony of the purple fog, but Sebastian kicked them away, emptying his magazine into the fray. Then, he was up and out of the hole. Alive.
There was no time to waste. Dante and Marcello quickly detached themselves from the clips in a matter of seconds, and then they were off, headed by zip-line to their next posts on the ground. The king roared again, chilling Sebastian's bones, and he knew that it wasn't over yet. The rest of the hive was already swarming, and those on the first floor came out to play. Titus didn't have to tell his men to fire. The air became a chorus of gunfire and beastie noises.
"Where do you need me, Titus?" Asked Sebastian, speaking into his comms-link and turning off the night-vision to his goggles. His wound was beginning to itch. It was a bad sign, but he couldn’t worry about that, now. There was a hive to decimate.
“If you can, sit tight and shoot at what you can see, kid,” Titus instructed in between orders to the other members of the platoon, “The statistics on that wound of yours… it’s not looking too great.”
The resignation in his superior’s voice prompted Sebastian to reach back, and his gauntlet came away bloody with clots. His vision swam and he stumbled, the itch transitioning into a burning sensation. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but that only disoriented him. He fell to his knees, the ground no longer even beneath his feet. He could feel every vein, every drop of fiery, contaminated blood as his heart pumped it further and further within his system. Every piece of information he’d been taught flooded through his mind, like how he only had about a minute more from the time he was scratched for the blood to reach his brain and how the doctors couldn’t always keep up with the vaccinations for the new strains.
A lump settled in his throat. Titus had given up on him, and Dante and Marcello had left him to die.
Anger flared within him, but he wouldn’t waste his last moments of sanity. At most, he had to prolong his turning as long as he could. Sebastian reached for his waist and pulled at his belt, freeing the leather strip and pulling it tightly around his neck. He cried out in agony as the virus attacked his heart, but the pain cleared his head, even for a moment.
His eyes located one of the metal rings the anchors had left into the concrete, and he slipped the tail end of the belt through it, using the extra leverage to pull the belt tighter around his neck. His vision swam again, but he reminded himself that choking to death would hypothetically be longer than the turning, and when he did turn, at least he would die soon enough.
His whole being throbbing, he pulled the belt tighter, the clasp cinching it adequately. The virus met the belt, and Sebastian growled, planting his foot against the the building’s lip. He pulled with all his might, praying that it would hold, that cutting off his circulation would be enough. The virus throbbed to the tips of his toes, and his arms began to feel sluggish, unable to grip the belt any more. He slumped back, completely consumed by the agony, his body convulsing.
His vision flickered white, and then the virus halted. He watched the sky as the purple mists mingled with the brown of the ever-present toxic fog. His head still pounded, but it was the kind that ensued after oxygen deprivation. He’d done it, but he no longer had the strength to fight. His vision faded, and he slipped into darkness.
The next sounds he heard were of the hospital’s machines. He felt nothing, but there was only one thought filling his mind: I am alive. I am sane.
If none of these interest you, please feel free to suggest a plot or pairing of your own! My favorite genres are historical/medieval and post apocalyptic, but I'm open to pretty much anything as long as it isn't too far into the fantasy genre. Thanks!
--Spottedbark
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