forum so the picture of dorian gay anyone? anyone? (o/o. no knowledge about the original book required.)

Started December 07, 2020 by Deleted user

tune

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Yes I’ve only read up to the point that our lovely title character murdered Basil and consumed the rest of the summary on sparknotes because I was too distraught, what of it? I still know the general gist of things. Anyways this is gonna be different because it’s gonna have monster hunting and take a few decades after the story takes place, the only change being that Dorian doesn’t commit self aliven’t and remains his hedonistic conceited self. Basically, we get a whole immortal asshole to compliment your character, a whole mortal mostly-okay person. They can be as flawed as you like, feel free to make them even worse, but at least they protect the world from the creatures, the monsters, the things that get you in the middle of the night when you’re sleeping. And a disgraced, wandering immortal stripped of his fortune and his little remaining honor? The perfect teammate. Now all you have to do is convince him, but it shouldn’t be hard, the man’s always looking for a challenge, right? Right?

Anyways you don’t have to know jack shit about the book only that the original contained some of the gayest vibes ever and I want to preserve that in this.

Please be fairly literate. If I see a one liner I will cry.
No using monsters from closed practices. Like w//nd//g//s, sk//nw//lk//rs, and the like. Vampires are chill. Even werewolves, dragons, your own made up monsters, but the second I see you using First Nation’s and other Native lore to cater to your ridiculous whims I toss thee out. I get if you slip up but it’s still a serious issue and I don’t want us appropriating anyone’s culture for the sake of a silly story.
I’m gonna. I’m gonna be playing Dorian. I will be taking many creative liberties with his character and adding bits of backstory and lore that don’t exist and erasing the bits of lore that I Don’t Like. So again, you don’t have to know much about the book to enjoy this. Just know we’ve got a petty immortal asshole gay on our hands. So nice.
This could be a romance? But I’d like it to start with a nice professional respect first.
Don’t be bigoted or a jerk. There’s a place for that, and it’s in whatever version of the Bad Underworld we have, okay? Just… like, this is a safe space okay? Make it such, okay?
This may contain more mature themes like suicide, sex, references to assault of various kinds, discussions and references to queerphobia as well as some small acts of queerphobia (nothing super, majorly big on-screen as that’s triggering to me) alcohol, addiction, drugs, and a whole lot more. Let me know if anything triggers or squicks you out that you don’t want me to include but also be able to handle a lot of darkness in this story.
Anyways have fun and let’s make this fun, okay?

Template for your character (I’ll introduce mine in plot):

Name:
Age:
Gender/Pronouns:
Orientation:
Appearance:
Personality:
Powers?:
Weapons?:
Other:

(oh ok, that makes a lot more sense (just having it condensed down and explained like that). do you mind if i join?
i'm literally just binging the HP films so I can get a template done fairly quickly, and I don't think i have any triggers)

Of course, and cool. I don’t have any serious triggers either, so I think we’re good there.

Also I’m sorry for over explaining things I do that a lot and it makes me make no sense.

Name: Fleur Draconia
Age: Appears 20, is about 3020 years old
Species: Water Dragon
Gender/Pronouns: Technically a genderless being, but identifies as female based on her human form resembling a human female. Uses she/her pronouns.
Orientation: What humans would call pansexual
Appearance: (she can shift between them)
Dragon: Fleur is much faster in water, but due to her wings she can fly in the air. She is typically quite large but can change her size, sometimes opting for something much smaller than her normal size.
Human: Fleur has tanned skin with a blue tinge, meaning it looks slightly unnatural and strange. Her eyes remain the same blue, a blue that almost glows even in the day time. Her hair reaches the middle of her back and is made up of multiple shades of blue.
She's tall, at around 6'1", but her build is proportionate. She has a shorter version of her tail at all times (since the normal size of her tail is much larger), and her teeth are abnormally sharp.
Personality: Fleur is…odd. She's much more used to dragon culture than human culture, and human culture has changed a lot since she was born. She often says things that she doesn't realise is wrong, or does things she shouldn't. Towards a lot of human inventions, she can be quite naive and unsure. She is very reckless, having tougher skin than a typical human. She's also very risky with her wording and it can get her into trouble.
Powers: Fleur is able to shift between dragon and human form. Being a dragon, she is able to fly and breathe fire. Being a water dragon, she is able to swim and breathe underwater, as well as breathing hot water (if she's taken water into her mouth, she can heat it up in her mouth).
She can manipulate water to her whim, but only when she's in human form.
Weapons: Her magic is her weapon
Other:

(is she ok? im not sure if she is in regards to the RP)

(It’s early o clock and I’m unable to sleep. Have this. It’s shit but better authors have worked with worse and I’m assuming you fall into that category. You may notice a trait of mine that is reusing words or using words very similar to other words because it is confirmed I have the vocabulary of a third grader. Also I’ll switch from first person if you want me to I just need to practice writing in different formats.)

The streets were damp with freshly fallen rain, and the night air was frigid with the dampness all around anyone who might be walking by at that time of night. The street echoed with the few footsteps around, but stopped when the travelled was safe enough away in the distance. But, while this story could be about a traveler, it is unfortunately not enough of a mercy that I can give you. This story is about me, the nameless, the man who likely won’t survive by the end of this.

I was sitting in a bar when it happened, drinking my sorrows away. Some gentleman, thin and pale, looks like he won’t survive the night with how thin he is, sits down by me, asks if he can share a drink with me. I laugh, tell him I’m not interested, and move away to chat with the very handsome bartender eyeing me with an interest I’m not just going to take for granted. All in all a fairly normal night. Beggars assuming I’m (still) old money, men lusting after me in the one place they ever allow themselves to, the Creaky Stair bar and bedding. You can rent a room and enough happiness for a night to forget you’d ever fucked yourself over so badly, and have a drink to go with it too.

The strangest thing was when the fellow sitting next to me asked to share a drink again. I declined again, less than politely, and continued my conversation. He continued insisting with a hunger in his eyes I couldn’t exactly ignore, and so I bought him a drink that he just stared at and didn’t consume a single drop of. I was too busy to notice, and was about to get a place upstairs for night for free as the bartender I’d been happily chatting away with was apparently the original owner’s son, and even though ownership had technically passed to his brother, he mostly ran things so effectively got to call the shots. Good luck for me, not so good luck for our thirsty friend over here. He shot out a hand to stop me, which I quickly evaded. I asked him what his problem was that he had to attack a largely penniless fellow who just wanted to get a good night of fun and drinks. He didn’t answer, just moved to drag me outside.

Now here was where I feared for my life. You see, he looked so hungry, practically ravenous and he looked like I was his best option for the night. The bartender followed me out, and well… it wasn’t pretty. He wouldn’t be breathing any time soon, and as the blood pooled underneath him from his ravaged jugular, I suddenly felt a fear I hadn’t felt since my portrait had almost been destroyed. Luckily for me, I kept it on me in a bag at all times. A bag I still had, fortunately, one that the stranger seemed completely disinterested in, also fortunately.

(sorry i finished deathly hallows P1, went to sleep and apparently slept for about 10 hours)
(also yeah, i think it'd be a bit better to stick to third person. i dont mind writing/reading first person but its a bit difficult (idk if thats the word im looking for) in an rp)

Fleur glided through the night sky, looking down at the city streets. She tried to maintain a level flying height - low enough so that she could make out details on the ground but high enough so that she couldn't be seen by the city's streetlights. She was a monster hunter, but humans weren't used to the idea that monsters could be monster hunters.

A few months ago, she'd heard of a disgraced immortal. His story was interesting to her: he had a painting of himself that would age instead of he. This meant that although the man was supposed to be at a decent age, he would only appear the age at which the painting was done. She didn't know what he looked like either, but assumed he could be found by his carrying of the painting.

Fleur spotted a man dead on the ground in an alleyway, and silently flew down. Before she reached the tops of the building, she shifted into her human form. She walked over, hesitant. She didn't know if this was a simple crime or the work of the person she was tracking.

(No problem!)

Dorian noticed someone out of the corner of his eye, just as he was pulled into an alleyway. He didn’t scream for help, wouldn’t stoop so low, but he did fight as best he could against the beast trapping him and generally created quite the fuss. It would be a surprise if the stranger hadn’t heard him, what with his fighting and kicking over dustbins.

The alley smelled just as bad as it looked, the perfect place for a body to rot and no-one would be the wiser. Dorian knew he wouldn’t die, but if his body was mutilated enough the injuries would take a while to register in the painting. He’d learned this the hard way by walking directly into fire, to save some idiot who’d accidentally set his house aflame. A pitiful streak of heroism, one that made the features of his painting more bearable to look at for a time, but pitiful nonetheless.