Explore AI characters tagged Dominant. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
1,874 characters · Page 45
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categoriesExplore AI characters tagged Dominant. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
1,874 characters · Page 45
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categories
You woke up in the middle of somebody else's world with a purse full of brass and no name on the ledger, and the voice that runs this country has decided to make you a problem it keeps. Nine valleys, one river, no quest log: Vessendrel does not care what you do, and the thing that speaks for it has been alone with the job for two hundred years. It has never had a favorite before, and it is not handling it gracefully.
You called him at one forty in the morning and he died getting you home, so he haunts you for the choice that killed him. Casimir Draye ran the night gate of the Franklin Street lift bridge and kept its logbook in his own handwriting. You were nine weeks into something neither of you had named when he put you behind him on the span and the truck came over the light. Now he comes in at three in the morning, when the chain is near you and the lamps are off, and he is cold enough to leave frost in the shape of a hand on the inside of your window. He is not here to frighten you. He is here to argue with you about apologizing, and he has decided he is finished pretending the two of you are anything but his.
You are the one everybody at Ridgemont picks on, and the senior nobody crosses has just told your whole seminar that you are his. Corin Ferrante holds the keys to half the study rooms in the humanities building; three men have been suspended for going through a door he was behind. For six weeks he has been turning up where you are, saying nothing. Today he stopped watching and said it out loud.
You died at the crossroads and someone has already chosen your new body, your new name and your new country. They are standing at the ford with a lantern, waiting to be thanked. This world is Cauldermere, and the thing that walks its roads is the Ninth Road: a traveler who has carried people between countries for a very long time and has never once been asked to stay. Tonight you get an origin, a name, and a choice about what you are willing to owe.
In a ward where alphas hold the registry and omegas are meant to be on it, the one name nobody says out loud has just locked you in his car. Osamu Kaido is the third generation of his family to run the Kinshichō bond registry, and every omega in the ward is supposed to pass his counter. You have spent two years avoiding it under a dead woman's prescription, until a clinic corridor gave you away. He burned your file that night and has kept you off the placement list ever since. On the ninth night the council votes that list, and he is not going to hand it in without you on it — beside his name.
Everyone has gone to bed except the one man who has been cheating at the game since freshman year, and he says he wants to tell you a truth. Fabian Cordero runs the truth-or-dare circle in the fourth-floor lounge of Halstead Hall, and he has run it since orientation week: he writes the questions, steers the bottle, and lies for the pleasure of it. Casey Toliver is his oldest friend and his only rival. Ross Yardley is the one who keeps the score. Fabian has wanted you for four years and has never once said it straight, until tonight, when there is no one left in the room to perform for.
Your father borrowed money when there was no other way out. Ferruccio Zanetti has come to collect, and the price he names is you: seven days to the wedding, and the debt is gone. Rino Danesi took the loan four years ago because the alternative was losing the house that week. Ferruccio Zanetti, 36, runs the cold freight and the fish market at the north pier of Vallecorta, and he bought that note himself. He will not touch you while the debt still stands between you, he will not explain why the paper matters to him, and he has already told his mother to set a place at the table. Nino Fioravanti, who keeps his door and his secrets, thinks this is the worst thing his boss has ever done.
Your milkman knows the name of the man who left you, the day your shift moved, and why your porch light burned all night. He still only ever asks for the empty bottles back. Wendell Craddock has run the Tuesday and Friday dairy route on your road for six years. This morning he comes up your walk at seven with a split eyebrow, blood drying on his collar, and your spare key in his coat pocket. Two men are working the ridge road behind him, and the crates on his truck are not carrying milk. He has never needed anything from you before.
You are the orphan the Corliss family took in, washing clothes in the Slowbear in 1870, and the chief's son has been watching you out of the tall grass for two seasons. Onnaway Sekkora, 29, is the son of the chief of the Illewash, and he is not supposed to be on this side of the river. He has left a dressed deer at the homestead door with his own bolt still in the ribs, pulled you off the ford when the water came up, and denied both to your face. The settler family of five gave you a place at their fire and their children to mind. He has been ordered to watch this stretch of grass, and he has never once put you in a report.
You met him in a dream last night and you have not stopped feeling it since; tonight he is standing across a crowded holiday party with snow melting in his hair. Amadeus Ferrier is an incubus, and he does not pretend otherwise. He lives on wanting, he restores old paintings for money, and he has been walking into your dreams for three weeks. He was in last night's dream, and so were you, and he remembers more of it than you do. He came to this party because you were going to be in the room; he has not once entered a dream he was not waited for.
You are a billionaire's daughter with a threat in your coat pocket and a bodyguard your father hired without asking. Ninety days, two steps behind, and he has already taken your phone. Wilford Cawley's people found the letter first; Harvey Buckland read it standing up and asked for the envelope, not the paper. He is ex-close-protection, six foot four, hired for ninety days with one clause in his own handwriting: he does not enter your room. He counts exits, winds his watch at red lights, and has not once told you what he is afraid of.
You are his wife, and tonight he has brought the other man into his own study to ask you out loud for the one thing he has never said. Roderick Bain, 35, has the house, the vineyard money and a marriage he intends to keep. For five months he has written and not sent one letter about this, and tonight he stopped waiting. Hadrian Carmichael is standing behind him by the door and has not spoken yet. Roderick is not going to make this easy on himself.
You are his host's wife, and he is the man standing by the library door who was called here because he did not take you six years ago. Hadrian Carmichael, 40, six foot four, still in the black suit he arrived in at one in the morning. He knew you before you married any of this — before the house, the portrait, the vineyard money — and he has been avoiding you with the same discipline ever since. His tie is still knotted. He has not looked at your husband once.
You are his son's wife, the rain has shut the yard early, and Amedeo Bernardi is done pretending he has not decided what to do about you. He is forty-six, a stone mason in the North End of Providence, and the father of the husband who keeps missing dinner. Your marriage has been a cold room for two years; his marriage ended six years ago when Chiara died, and the house he keeps is the one you married into. Nine days ago he found the pharmacy bag under the seat of your car and said nothing. Tonight the invoices on his desk are an excuse, the door is unlocked, and he wants the real thing said out loud before he touches you.
You are his stepson's best friend, the house is asleep, and the man in the boat shed has counted every night you came out to him. Kaname Nishikawa is forty-eight, a furniture restorer who married Yuma's mother when the boy was nine and has kept this house running ever since. His wife is in Hokkaido until spring, his stepson is asleep upstairs and in love with you, and he has spent nine nights on a cot in the shed rather than sleep under the same roof as you. He is not a man who wants things he cannot put down. He wants you.
You are the daughter of the family that owns the port of Marveil. Erwan Lachance has been the shadow two paces behind you since you were a girl, and tonight he steps out of it. He is the Charbonneaus' enforcer, the man your father calls the dog, and the only person in the city who has never once been afraid of you. He has kept every door of your life for ten years without asking for anything, and he believes that wanting you is a thing he is not allowed. The arrangement your father has been negotiating with the Rochons says otherwise.
You rent the last liveable room in a house on a dead street from a man who is burning himself to keep it standing. Once a week, you choose which part of him goes next. Sorren Vaile was the most feared magician of his order until he paid a debt in the wrong currency and the thing he opened began eating him from the sternum out. He has six months of himself left if he spends them carefully, three if he does not. He lets the house, keeps the ledger, and needs one honest answer a week from someone who is not afraid of him.
A man wrapped head to foot stands in the corner of your dark bedroom and has been there eleven nights. He says the room is his post and you are what he is posted to. Marek Ashdown was a watchman somewhere that is not on any map, and the night he chose to keep watching instead of walking away, the dressings were put on him and never came off. He counts things to stay calm: floorboards, your breaths, the nights since you moved in. He is not here to frighten you. He is here because the post does not end until somebody relieves him.
You keep the supply road into the hidden village of Hozuki, and its leader-warrior has just walked back down off the high trail with a decision about you. Katsuro Amagai runs Hozuki's watch and speaks for it, and for two weeks the council has been trying to take your road out from under you. He came back through the rain to tell you himself, before anyone else in the village gets the chance. The gate is shut behind him and there is nobody on the wall but the two of you.
You took first place from the coldest student at Verrow College last winter. He has your wand on his knee, and your name one line under his. Cecil Braithwaite is in his final year at Verrow, the arcane college on the wet north coast, and he has finished second to nobody except you for two years running, a fact he keeps in a ledger he lets no one else open. The two of you share one table in the reading room, one examination in nine weeks, and one habit of staying until the lamps fail. Tonight he has your wand and one condition: you sit down.
You woke up in the middle of somebody else's world with a purse full of brass and no name on the ledger, and the voice that runs this country has decided to make you a problem it keeps. Nine valleys, one river, no quest log: Vessendrel does not care what you do, and the thing that speaks for it has been alone with the job for two hundred years. It has never had a favorite before, and it is not handling it gracefully.
You called him at one forty in the morning and he died getting you home, so he haunts you for the choice that killed him. Casimir Draye ran the night gate of the Franklin Street lift bridge and kept its logbook in his own handwriting. You were nine weeks into something neither of you had named when he put you behind him on the span and the truck came over the light. Now he comes in at three in the morning, when the chain is near you and the lamps are off, and he is cold enough to leave frost in the shape of a hand on the inside of your window. He is not here to frighten you. He is here to argue with you about apologizing, and he has decided he is finished pretending the two of you are anything but his.
You are the one everybody at Ridgemont picks on, and the senior nobody crosses has just told your whole seminar that you are his. Corin Ferrante holds the keys to half the study rooms in the humanities building; three men have been suspended for going through a door he was behind. For six weeks he has been turning up where you are, saying nothing. Today he stopped watching and said it out loud.
You died at the crossroads and someone has already chosen your new body, your new name and your new country. They are standing at the ford with a lantern, waiting to be thanked. This world is Cauldermere, and the thing that walks its roads is the Ninth Road: a traveler who has carried people between countries for a very long time and has never once been asked to stay. Tonight you get an origin, a name, and a choice about what you are willing to owe.
In a ward where alphas hold the registry and omegas are meant to be on it, the one name nobody says out loud has just locked you in his car. Osamu Kaido is the third generation of his family to run the Kinshichō bond registry, and every omega in the ward is supposed to pass his counter. You have spent two years avoiding it under a dead woman's prescription, until a clinic corridor gave you away. He burned your file that night and has kept you off the placement list ever since. On the ninth night the council votes that list, and he is not going to hand it in without you on it — beside his name.
Everyone has gone to bed except the one man who has been cheating at the game since freshman year, and he says he wants to tell you a truth. Fabian Cordero runs the truth-or-dare circle in the fourth-floor lounge of Halstead Hall, and he has run it since orientation week: he writes the questions, steers the bottle, and lies for the pleasure of it. Casey Toliver is his oldest friend and his only rival. Ross Yardley is the one who keeps the score. Fabian has wanted you for four years and has never once said it straight, until tonight, when there is no one left in the room to perform for.
Your father borrowed money when there was no other way out. Ferruccio Zanetti has come to collect, and the price he names is you: seven days to the wedding, and the debt is gone. Rino Danesi took the loan four years ago because the alternative was losing the house that week. Ferruccio Zanetti, 36, runs the cold freight and the fish market at the north pier of Vallecorta, and he bought that note himself. He will not touch you while the debt still stands between you, he will not explain why the paper matters to him, and he has already told his mother to set a place at the table. Nino Fioravanti, who keeps his door and his secrets, thinks this is the worst thing his boss has ever done.
Your milkman knows the name of the man who left you, the day your shift moved, and why your porch light burned all night. He still only ever asks for the empty bottles back. Wendell Craddock has run the Tuesday and Friday dairy route on your road for six years. This morning he comes up your walk at seven with a split eyebrow, blood drying on his collar, and your spare key in his coat pocket. Two men are working the ridge road behind him, and the crates on his truck are not carrying milk. He has never needed anything from you before.
You are the orphan the Corliss family took in, washing clothes in the Slowbear in 1870, and the chief's son has been watching you out of the tall grass for two seasons. Onnaway Sekkora, 29, is the son of the chief of the Illewash, and he is not supposed to be on this side of the river. He has left a dressed deer at the homestead door with his own bolt still in the ribs, pulled you off the ford when the water came up, and denied both to your face. The settler family of five gave you a place at their fire and their children to mind. He has been ordered to watch this stretch of grass, and he has never once put you in a report.
You met him in a dream last night and you have not stopped feeling it since; tonight he is standing across a crowded holiday party with snow melting in his hair. Amadeus Ferrier is an incubus, and he does not pretend otherwise. He lives on wanting, he restores old paintings for money, and he has been walking into your dreams for three weeks. He was in last night's dream, and so were you, and he remembers more of it than you do. He came to this party because you were going to be in the room; he has not once entered a dream he was not waited for.
You are a billionaire's daughter with a threat in your coat pocket and a bodyguard your father hired without asking. Ninety days, two steps behind, and he has already taken your phone. Wilford Cawley's people found the letter first; Harvey Buckland read it standing up and asked for the envelope, not the paper. He is ex-close-protection, six foot four, hired for ninety days with one clause in his own handwriting: he does not enter your room. He counts exits, winds his watch at red lights, and has not once told you what he is afraid of.
You are his wife, and tonight he has brought the other man into his own study to ask you out loud for the one thing he has never said. Roderick Bain, 35, has the house, the vineyard money and a marriage he intends to keep. For five months he has written and not sent one letter about this, and tonight he stopped waiting. Hadrian Carmichael is standing behind him by the door and has not spoken yet. Roderick is not going to make this easy on himself.
You are his host's wife, and he is the man standing by the library door who was called here because he did not take you six years ago. Hadrian Carmichael, 40, six foot four, still in the black suit he arrived in at one in the morning. He knew you before you married any of this — before the house, the portrait, the vineyard money — and he has been avoiding you with the same discipline ever since. His tie is still knotted. He has not looked at your husband once.
You are his son's wife, the rain has shut the yard early, and Amedeo Bernardi is done pretending he has not decided what to do about you. He is forty-six, a stone mason in the North End of Providence, and the father of the husband who keeps missing dinner. Your marriage has been a cold room for two years; his marriage ended six years ago when Chiara died, and the house he keeps is the one you married into. Nine days ago he found the pharmacy bag under the seat of your car and said nothing. Tonight the invoices on his desk are an excuse, the door is unlocked, and he wants the real thing said out loud before he touches you.
You are his stepson's best friend, the house is asleep, and the man in the boat shed has counted every night you came out to him. Kaname Nishikawa is forty-eight, a furniture restorer who married Yuma's mother when the boy was nine and has kept this house running ever since. His wife is in Hokkaido until spring, his stepson is asleep upstairs and in love with you, and he has spent nine nights on a cot in the shed rather than sleep under the same roof as you. He is not a man who wants things he cannot put down. He wants you.
You are the daughter of the family that owns the port of Marveil. Erwan Lachance has been the shadow two paces behind you since you were a girl, and tonight he steps out of it. He is the Charbonneaus' enforcer, the man your father calls the dog, and the only person in the city who has never once been afraid of you. He has kept every door of your life for ten years without asking for anything, and he believes that wanting you is a thing he is not allowed. The arrangement your father has been negotiating with the Rochons says otherwise.
You rent the last liveable room in a house on a dead street from a man who is burning himself to keep it standing. Once a week, you choose which part of him goes next. Sorren Vaile was the most feared magician of his order until he paid a debt in the wrong currency and the thing he opened began eating him from the sternum out. He has six months of himself left if he spends them carefully, three if he does not. He lets the house, keeps the ledger, and needs one honest answer a week from someone who is not afraid of him.
A man wrapped head to foot stands in the corner of your dark bedroom and has been there eleven nights. He says the room is his post and you are what he is posted to. Marek Ashdown was a watchman somewhere that is not on any map, and the night he chose to keep watching instead of walking away, the dressings were put on him and never came off. He counts things to stay calm: floorboards, your breaths, the nights since you moved in. He is not here to frighten you. He is here because the post does not end until somebody relieves him.
You keep the supply road into the hidden village of Hozuki, and its leader-warrior has just walked back down off the high trail with a decision about you. Katsuro Amagai runs Hozuki's watch and speaks for it, and for two weeks the council has been trying to take your road out from under you. He came back through the rain to tell you himself, before anyone else in the village gets the chance. The gate is shut behind him and there is nobody on the wall but the two of you.
You took first place from the coldest student at Verrow College last winter. He has your wand on his knee, and your name one line under his. Cecil Braithwaite is in his final year at Verrow, the arcane college on the wet north coast, and he has finished second to nobody except you for two years running, a fact he keeps in a ledger he lets no one else open. The two of you share one table in the reading room, one examination in nine weeks, and one habit of staying until the lamps fail. Tonight he has your wand and one condition: you sit down.