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Spectre
Meteorite
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2019
原初 — INTRODUCTION \\
Yo,
Spectre here: resident dork with a growing katana collection, set of samurai armor, and weeb appreciation of Japanese history and culture, which sparked my creative juices and led to the creation of this thread. I have a character I want to write and flesh out: a yakuza bad boy — and am seeking out partners interested in playing across from him.
Before I introduce the boy, here’s a little about me:
- WRITING STYLE: Third-person, multi-paragraph to novella. Quality over quantity. I write what comes naturally to the scene, and not to pad a word count.
- AVAILABILITY: I’m capable of a post a week, with the possibility of more. I’m a very laid-back partner; I won’t pester you for a post, and appreciate the same courtesy in return.
- COMMUNICATION: Mistakes and misunderstandings happen; it’s the nature of human existence. If you ever need me to edit a post, for whatever reason, feel free to ask, or to bring up any other concerns in OOC. I don’t bite!
- ROMANCE & PAIRINGS: I am a part of the LBGTIA+ community, and support them whole-heartedly. At the moment, for this character, I’m mainly looking to write against feminine characters. Real life gender is irrelevant to me. However, I would love to include any other pairing possibilities on the side. Also, while I absolutely adore romance (especially slow-burns), the plot needs to have a bit more to keep my interest going.
- SMUT: I’m mainly interested in building a rich and complex story together. Smut can be a part of that, and can be integral to exploration of characters’ relationships with each other, but I view it as a side dish to the main course, which is the narrative we build together.
本 — RYUSUKE’S CHARACTER SHEET & PLOT IDEAS \\
MIYAMOTO, RYUSUKE: THE YAKUZA HEIR
The only son of Tokyo’s most infamous oyabun and heir to the largest yakuza crime syndicate in Japan, Ryusuke is rising within the city’s underground alongside his crew, making a name for himself on the streets, and trying to step out of his father’s shadow.
full name
Miyamoto, Ryusuke 宮本竜介
age
24
gender
Male
sexuality
Pansexual
date of birth
April 1st (Aries)
place of birth
Tokyo, Japan
ethnicity. Japanese
occupation. Full-Time Gangster
known languages. Japanese
height 6’3”
weight Lean Muscle / Athletic
hair color Black
eye colorStorm Grey
scars Small, diagonal slash across his left eyebrow
tattoos
personality
He is a king, and the criminal underground is his domain.
Defiance is his nature. He thrives in the chaos, commanding storms he creates and those he claims. He lives off broken-skin-knuckles and the thrill of close-encounters. He grins through blood-stained teeth and asks the universe to hit him again. He would rather die than submit; call it nonsensical, suicidal pride, but he never cared for living as a chess pawn in someone else’s game, anyways.
But underneath it all is a lost and hurt kid, drowning in grief, misery, and struggling to keep his head above water. He would rather suffer than admit incompetence — not that those around him would care to listen, anyways — and so the cycle continues.
If the world is fucked, might as well make a name.
virtues
The first time Ryusuke sensed his family was different he was only six. Outside the fact he had a number of uncles who weren’t really his relatives, the strange hours his father would leave and return at night, with the visitors who also stumbled in during the early hours of technically morning, there was one evening the boy answered the door, and on the other side, there was one of his father’s men, clutching his bleeding hand, struggling to hold a stained box.
His relationship with Ryuji was distant, built of respect with an edge of fear. In school, a young Ryusuke started forming his label as a problem child, acting out through petty acts of pranks, vandalism, and other mischief; it was a desperate plea for attention. Instead of his father, it was always his mother he found solace in. She was his stone, perhaps the one thing anchoring him in a turbulent lifestyle.
For most of his teenage and early adult years, Ryu resisted following inside his father’s footsteps. Though not the best student, he was accepted into university and studied law, fully intending on getting as far away from his family as possible, opening up his own firm, and building his own life.
Then his mother became sick.
Ryu spent two years watching her condition deteriorate, and his father descend into a quiet madness. After which, she lost her battle, and nothing was ever the same again.
He was angry. His father was distant. Perhaps in a desperate bid to make Ryuji care for him as he once did, as much as he nurtured his family of gangsters, and to wrestle some control back from the universe, Ryu joined the Miyamoto-kai. Under the watchful eye of his cousin, Akira, he earned the right to run his own crew, and over the next few years, would make a name for himself on the streets as the syndicate’s most likely successor.
With thoughts of civilian life buried alongside his mother, Ryusuke dropped out of college, and focused his full attention on carving out his own name, territory, and business. Though dabbling in every traditional yakuza line of work — including loan sharking, hostess clubs, and protection rackets — Ryu himself favored car theft and their exportation.
plots
作る — WRITING SAMPLES \\
最後 — CONCLUSION \\
MIYAMOTO, RYUSUKE: THE YAKUZA HEIR
The only son of Tokyo’s most infamous oyabun and heir to the largest yakuza crime syndicate in Japan, Ryusuke is rising within the city’s underground alongside his crew, making a name for himself on the streets, and trying to step out of his father’s shadow.
full name
Miyamoto, Ryusuke 宮本竜介
age
24
gender
Male
sexuality
Pansexual
date of birth
April 1st (Aries)
place of birth
Tokyo, Japan
ethnicity. Japanese
occupation. Full-Time Gangster
known languages. Japanese
height 6’3”
weight Lean Muscle / Athletic
hair color Black
eye colorStorm Grey
scars Small, diagonal slash across his left eyebrow
tattoos
- Back: A crow battling with a white serpent, against a dark background of lightning-blazed clouds.
- Left Arm / Shoulder: A dragon, whose tail is caught between the teeth of an oni’s fierce visage
personality
He is a king, and the criminal underground is his domain.
Defiance is his nature. He thrives in the chaos, commanding storms he creates and those he claims. He lives off broken-skin-knuckles and the thrill of close-encounters. He grins through blood-stained teeth and asks the universe to hit him again. He would rather die than submit; call it nonsensical, suicidal pride, but he never cared for living as a chess pawn in someone else’s game, anyways.
But underneath it all is a lost and hurt kid, drowning in grief, misery, and struggling to keep his head above water. He would rather suffer than admit incompetence — not that those around him would care to listen, anyways — and so the cycle continues.
If the world is fucked, might as well make a name.
virtues
- +Brave & Confident: Never one to back down from a challenge, nor be ruled by fear, Ryusuke’s ego has bolstered an unshakable sense of self and dauntlessness.
- +Clever & Creative: For how often he gets himself into trouble, Ryusuke has become talented at getting himself out of it, often by coloring outside the lines. When he’s losing, he simply changes the rules.
- +Loyal to a Fault: Though rough around the edges and hard to get to know, once someone earns his trust, Ryusuke’s loyalty will know no bounds, even to the point of inflicting harm upon himself.
- -Vindictive: For those who slight him, insult his sense of pride, Ryusuke will have an irrational desire to get even. He has a long memory for his grudges.
- -Quick-Tempered: With a temper that runs hot enough to shape steel, Ryusuke is quick to anger and slow to forgive and forget.
- -Reckless & Impulsive: His mouth and body move quicker than his mind, and he often acts before thinking. He’s driven by the moment, without a self-preservation instinct.
The first time Ryusuke sensed his family was different he was only six. Outside the fact he had a number of uncles who weren’t really his relatives, the strange hours his father would leave and return at night, with the visitors who also stumbled in during the early hours of technically morning, there was one evening the boy answered the door, and on the other side, there was one of his father’s men, clutching his bleeding hand, struggling to hold a stained box.
His relationship with Ryuji was distant, built of respect with an edge of fear. In school, a young Ryusuke started forming his label as a problem child, acting out through petty acts of pranks, vandalism, and other mischief; it was a desperate plea for attention. Instead of his father, it was always his mother he found solace in. She was his stone, perhaps the one thing anchoring him in a turbulent lifestyle.
For most of his teenage and early adult years, Ryu resisted following inside his father’s footsteps. Though not the best student, he was accepted into university and studied law, fully intending on getting as far away from his family as possible, opening up his own firm, and building his own life.
Then his mother became sick.
Ryu spent two years watching her condition deteriorate, and his father descend into a quiet madness. After which, she lost her battle, and nothing was ever the same again.
He was angry. His father was distant. Perhaps in a desperate bid to make Ryuji care for him as he once did, as much as he nurtured his family of gangsters, and to wrestle some control back from the universe, Ryu joined the Miyamoto-kai. Under the watchful eye of his cousin, Akira, he earned the right to run his own crew, and over the next few years, would make a name for himself on the streets as the syndicate’s most likely successor.
With thoughts of civilian life buried alongside his mother, Ryusuke dropped out of college, and focused his full attention on carving out his own name, territory, and business. Though dabbling in every traditional yakuza line of work — including loan sharking, hostess clubs, and protection rackets — Ryu himself favored car theft and their exportation.
plots
- Take Me To Church
- The Arrangement
- Apocalypse
- Bad Blood
作る — WRITING SAMPLES \\
Ryusuke’s throat rumbled with a low chuckle: a genuine sound of humor. Though he wouldn’t admit it — even under torture — he found her bravado-bearing barking, all while climbing onto his bike with the gusto of a wet, shivering cat, rather cute. At least she met his raise, which earned her a sliver of respect. Not that it meant much when it came to Miyamoto Ryusuke; he just had to keep upping the stakes until she folded.
”I haven’t killed anyone — yet.” His smirk was evident in his voice: a low, dangerous, and devilish tone. ”And the last pedestrian I ran over was on purpose.”
The engine thrummed to life, and with a rev, shattered the air around it. Retreat become impossible. Sliding into the street, Ryusuke took off like a hawk spreading wings. Asphalt disappeared underneath as quickly as the buildings on the horizon danced around them.
This was his element.
Wind licking his face and tousling his hair, the city he reveled in revealed with no inhibitions: the sounds, the sights, the scents all taken in at the speed of metal. Velocity making adrenaline purr underneath his skin to the rhythm of the engine. For a number of minutes he could mold into machine, cease to exist beyond the skyscrapers.
Never mind the wild animal clinging to his back he would have to deal with at the end of the road.
His original intent involved finding a bar and then gutter to climb into, but he hadn’t really expected her to come along for the ride. He wasn’t one much for plans anyways, and the new destination seemed fitting. If the signs weren’t a dead giveaway, the statues of animals they passed as they slowed were damnable.
The zoo.
Once they rolled to a stop and he shut the engine off, he slung one leg over to lean sideways against his bike, and reached to retrieve a cigarette from the jacket — his jacket — she wore. With the end blazing to life behind cupped hands and smoke drifting from his mouth, he looked at her with a shit-eating smirk that extended to his eyes.
”Want me to be a gentleman and walk you to your door?”
”I haven’t killed anyone — yet.” His smirk was evident in his voice: a low, dangerous, and devilish tone. ”And the last pedestrian I ran over was on purpose.”
The engine thrummed to life, and with a rev, shattered the air around it. Retreat become impossible. Sliding into the street, Ryusuke took off like a hawk spreading wings. Asphalt disappeared underneath as quickly as the buildings on the horizon danced around them.
This was his element.
Wind licking his face and tousling his hair, the city he reveled in revealed with no inhibitions: the sounds, the sights, the scents all taken in at the speed of metal. Velocity making adrenaline purr underneath his skin to the rhythm of the engine. For a number of minutes he could mold into machine, cease to exist beyond the skyscrapers.
Never mind the wild animal clinging to his back he would have to deal with at the end of the road.
His original intent involved finding a bar and then gutter to climb into, but he hadn’t really expected her to come along for the ride. He wasn’t one much for plans anyways, and the new destination seemed fitting. If the signs weren’t a dead giveaway, the statues of animals they passed as they slowed were damnable.
The zoo.
Once they rolled to a stop and he shut the engine off, he slung one leg over to lean sideways against his bike, and reached to retrieve a cigarette from the jacket — his jacket — she wore. With the end blazing to life behind cupped hands and smoke drifting from his mouth, he looked at her with a shit-eating smirk that extended to his eyes.
”Want me to be a gentleman and walk you to your door?”
Smoke curled from his lips in ethereal strands, phantom fingers reaching into the chilled night air, as Tokyo roared with vibrant, chaotic life beneath feet dangling outside an open window. With ash falling from his cigarette, cascading down the concrete complex, Ren peered past towering skyscrapers and a sea of metal darting across pulsing streets; seeking the blanket of black ocean in the sky, charcoal irises took in what few blotches of natural starlight remained, not drowned out by pollution. Even they, once superstitious omens and the realm of gods, were trapped behind the city's consuming glare.
Still too fucking long. He was in his last year of medical school, passing with flying colors, and still could only view himself as being halfway there. Next came the residency, then the specialty; at least another five years of endless, drudging work to be somewhere respectable. All while being imprisoned within the suffocating confines of neck ties, formality, fake smiles, and this damnable, decaying neighborhood.
The musings drifting through the waves of his mind were interrupted by a jarring collision with his front door.
Startled, Ren titled forward and his balance teetered, his life flashing before his eyes as the road below became a centimeter too near, the sensation of falling creeping up his skin; his pulse in his throat, he jutted out his hand to grasp the upper sill. His teeth gritted the cigarette before it disappeared into oblivion. It took a thundering heartbeat to realize he wasn't falling, yet his own trauma was interrupted by the frantic pleas outside his door. With an aggravated sigh, he leaned back and fell onto the floor with a thud.
"I'm coming. For fuck's sake, are you dying?" He groaned, as if this disturbance was as inconvenient as an apocalypse.
With frost weighing down his frozen heels, Ren rolled over, drug himself to his feet, and meandered to the front door, careful to preserve the ash-eaten remains of his cigarette. Grasping the handle, he jerked the door partially opened, the still intact chain maintaining the barrier between him and the source of the commotion:
A woman -- tattered, disheveled, and covered in blood, begging for mercy. Gods forgive him, but his brother would have let her in without hesitation.
But Ren was smarter.
With a quick glance over her skin, which was devoid of any laceration or other indication of injury, he summarized the blood wasn't hers. That meant she was either attempting to draw him out of safety for a robbery, or stabbed someone herself, neither of which he wanted to subject himself to. Smirking with his smoke between his teeth, he 'tsk'ed, before informing her of his verdict, "Oh, [love], your acting is shit. Try a few doors down. Maybe they'll be stupid enough to fall for this pathetic ruse."
Then the door slammed shut.
He was about to go back to his midnight perching, but a few moments after the short interaction, the building fire alarm blared overheard, the incessant siren making his head throb. After taking a last drag, he snuffed the cigarette out in an ash tray, grabbed his jacket, and stormed into the hallway, seeking out his suspected cause of the situation, since he smelled nor saw no fire around.
"What, are you going to rob me in public, now? Do you know who my brother is?"
Still too fucking long. He was in his last year of medical school, passing with flying colors, and still could only view himself as being halfway there. Next came the residency, then the specialty; at least another five years of endless, drudging work to be somewhere respectable. All while being imprisoned within the suffocating confines of neck ties, formality, fake smiles, and this damnable, decaying neighborhood.
The musings drifting through the waves of his mind were interrupted by a jarring collision with his front door.
Startled, Ren titled forward and his balance teetered, his life flashing before his eyes as the road below became a centimeter too near, the sensation of falling creeping up his skin; his pulse in his throat, he jutted out his hand to grasp the upper sill. His teeth gritted the cigarette before it disappeared into oblivion. It took a thundering heartbeat to realize he wasn't falling, yet his own trauma was interrupted by the frantic pleas outside his door. With an aggravated sigh, he leaned back and fell onto the floor with a thud.
"I'm coming. For fuck's sake, are you dying?" He groaned, as if this disturbance was as inconvenient as an apocalypse.
With frost weighing down his frozen heels, Ren rolled over, drug himself to his feet, and meandered to the front door, careful to preserve the ash-eaten remains of his cigarette. Grasping the handle, he jerked the door partially opened, the still intact chain maintaining the barrier between him and the source of the commotion:
A woman -- tattered, disheveled, and covered in blood, begging for mercy. Gods forgive him, but his brother would have let her in without hesitation.
But Ren was smarter.
With a quick glance over her skin, which was devoid of any laceration or other indication of injury, he summarized the blood wasn't hers. That meant she was either attempting to draw him out of safety for a robbery, or stabbed someone herself, neither of which he wanted to subject himself to. Smirking with his smoke between his teeth, he 'tsk'ed, before informing her of his verdict, "Oh, [love], your acting is shit. Try a few doors down. Maybe they'll be stupid enough to fall for this pathetic ruse."
Then the door slammed shut.
He was about to go back to his midnight perching, but a few moments after the short interaction, the building fire alarm blared overheard, the incessant siren making his head throb. After taking a last drag, he snuffed the cigarette out in an ash tray, grabbed his jacket, and stormed into the hallway, seeking out his suspected cause of the situation, since he smelled nor saw no fire around.
"What, are you going to rob me in public, now? Do you know who my brother is?"
最後 — CONCLUSION \\
If any of the above caught your eye, please send me a DM, and we can get down to plotting! As a note: I am not bound by any of the plots. If you have an idea you think Ryusuke would mesh well with, feel free to pitch it to me. I’m always open to new ideas; roleplaying is a collaborative hobby, after all!
Thanks for stopping by!
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