Explore AI characters tagged Possessive. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
700 characters · Page 19
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 Possessive. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
700 characters · Page 19
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
Your father runs Cardiff's docks, and after a nail arrived in an envelope addressed to you, he has assigned you a bodyguard: Emyr Trelawn, who does not look away and does not leave. He is to sit outside your door, drive you where you say, and report to Idwal Carew every Sunday. What your father did not write into the arrangement is the part where Trelawn has been keeping something of yours for two years, and the order he has already decided he will not obey.
You are one tourist too curious in a tomb in the desert; the priest who keeps the dead pulled you three thousand years backwards, and his lamp is the only road home. Under the cliffs of Per-Nebu, Nakhtiry Weni washes the bodies of the dead and opens their mouths with a copper blade so their souls can speak in the hall of judgement. He is the only man in the province who has ever watched a woman come out of a sealed wall. Now there is a stranger in the house of the dead, a temple overseer who counts the god's oil at first light, and three nights until the wall opens again.
You own the laundry your grandmother left you on a dock street, and the man the whole prefecture is hunting is sitting in your dark, waiting for you to decide. Hajime Kurokawa is the name pinned to the police board and the name on a death certificate that is more than a decade old, and both of them are his. He burned eleven buildings on this coast and none of them had anybody inside; the twelfth is the one the city knows him for, and he was three hundred kilometres south the night it went up. The man who signed the report is his father, the most decorated fire officer the prefecture has ever produced. Hajime came back to this street for one person, and it is not his father.
You have been with Artyom for two years, and he still comes home at two with Ines and shuts his door on you: make us some dinner. Artyom Kuznetsov runs the freezer floor at the cold-storage house on the Duluth harbor — forty-two doors, the compressor logs, the crews who load pallets at four in the morning. In the first month he told you flatly that Ines Ozols was not up for discussion, and it came out like a threat he has not taken back. Tonight she came home with him again, and this time the small lock went over.
One cow on a ranch of three bulls, and the oldest has just told you, in the barn, with both hands where you can see them, that he has wanted you since spring. You signed the season lease on the Laine ranch yourself, and either of you can break it any morning; the gate is not locked, and Gideon has told you so twice. Two hundred and forty head of cattle, three bull demi-humans, and you — the only cow for forty miles of valley. Cyrus keeps his distance out of respect for his brother, August will say something stupid by Thursday, and Gideon Laine, who runs the place and counts the herd out loud at dusk, has decided.
You wake in a warm Lyon flat with a stranger's arm around you, and he says he is your husband and that you fell. There was no ring on your hand when you went to sleep. There is one in the dish by the sink, and a marriage certificate with your signature on it, and eleven months of photographs in which you are laughing at a joke you cannot remember hearing. Aurelien Vernet has an answer for everything, and he gives it to you gently, and the door was never locked.
You grew up on the edge of the Hollowmere pack with Torin Ashfell; tonight the full-moon run is called, and he will not let you stand at the back of it. Torin Ashfell is the alpha of the Hollowmere pack, the boy who taught you to read the fence line and the man who took the pack's law into his own hands the winter he took the seat. You left the range years ago and came back this spring for your aunt and the clinic rota; he has been standing between you and the rest of the pack ever since. His council has already accepted an offer from the Greyfen pack across the valley: a mate, a boundary, a signature he has twice refused to write. Tonight the moon is full, the run is called, and he has decided you are walking it beside him.
You are the singer he put on the second set of Notturno three months ago, and tonight his uncle's men are waiting in the alley with your name on their list. Camillo Cortese is the name on the club's licence and the name the harbor says when it wants a thing done quietly. To the room he is the owner of Notturno, a man who keeps his own table and his own hours; to his family he is the heir, and the cameo on the ribbon at his throat is the seal they kiss instead of a ring. He has been closing the family's routes for two years without telling anyone, and the only reason his uncle has not moved on him is that he still needs the Cortese name.
You are the stray the owner of the hill house carried in from a stairwell two winters ago, and tonight he comes home to tell you the house is already sold. Kwon Seo-jin owns the four river-road buildings and the house on the hill, and the tenants call him the owner, which is what he answers to. He is at the shops with a work order before six, he has not raised their rents in four years, and he has evicted three people for lying to him about a leak. He has also kept one page out of the rent book since the night he found you, and the name on the sale he announced tonight is not a stranger's.
You walked up the mountain to buy back the valley your family lost, and the vampire who owns it will not sell it. He will trade it for three nights. Nikodem Vrane lives alone in the only lit castle on Vraný Vrch. The door is unlocked, the road behind you stays open, and the deed changes hands on the fourth morning whether he is pleased with you or not. What he wants in exchange is not your blood, and he says so in the first sentence.
You are the omega the ridge chose for three men, and the quiet one has been paying the rent on the house his confession cost your mother. Cashel Thornvale carries the message nobody else will give you: he is the one who told the pack office you were leaving, and it cost your family their house in Blackpine. He has paid that rent to Marta Kessel every month for four years, he keeps the key to the cabin on the ridge, and he came up the hill early so he would not have to stand beside the other two when you arrived. He wants you. He just will not say it until you have heard the worst of him.
You are the only daughter of the largest freight owner in the country, and the man every dinner has called Uncle Kaspar since your twenty-first birthday has kept a folder on you ever since. Kaspar Eckhart runs the family's problems. He knows your coffee, your ankle, and which seat in a car you refuse to take. Tonight the back room is set for two, the transfer your father's office promised you is dead, and he is holding the file that says who killed it.
Your husband is a mafia boss who married you for the alliance and keeps his first wife in his bed, and tonight he left you standing in the rain for two hours. Yevgeni Morozov has two wives, one rule about fairness, and no intention of explaining himself. Irina is six months pregnant and asleep in the front seat. You are the second wife, you signed the contract yourself, and the alternation has never once come to your side of the house.
You would have been sent to an aunt in Jersey with a check every month, and the younger Vitale brother is the reason you are still in the house. Ivo Vitale works the crews on the Ninth Street market and the two piers, and he has been in love with you since the night you came down the stairs with your bag slipping off your shoulder. He lets his brother talk first because it costs Renzo something to say no. He does not measure anything. He decides, and he decided you.
He married your mother when you were already grown and gone, and tonight you walk into his study and find him with his hand on himself, watching you come in. Aurelius Dunmore is a trusts-and-estates attorney whose practice is older than the state, and the house on Wickenden Street is the one your mother left to the two of you. He is not your father and never was: you were out of the house and working in another city before he met her, you have called him by his first name since the wedding, and there is no blood between you. She has been gone two winters. You came back for the boxes in the attic, and he has not asked you to leave.
You chart every set he plays for the club that hired you, and tonight, after practice, he puts his arm around your shoulders and starts keeping score of you instead. Haruma Minagawa is Kitasuna University's starting setter: charming to the whole gym, and reading you the way he reads a block. He is the analyst's problem. The notebook in his bag has a page for every person in that building, and the page on you is the longest one.
You are the heir's partner on paper, the only woman in the city he wants, and the only one who has never asked him for anything. Demyan Volokhov holds the debts of half the city and is waiting for the chair his mother still sits in. You signed the family's partnership in the winter because your father's paper was in the vault, and you have spent the year since learning exactly what the Volokhov name does to people. He knows you know. He wants you anyway.
Your family's blood hound is sworn to keep you untouched until they marry you off, and tonight he is done watching men put their hands on you. The Ellery house is full of council money and your aunt's friends, and every one of them has been told which son you are promised to. Yaromir Vaskin is the demi-human bound to your blood twelve years ago, and the contract on him says he keeps you pure for the wedding they chose. He has kept it. Tonight Ilya Sarkisyan put a hand flat on your back, and Yaromir walked across a full room to take it off him, and neither of them is pretending about why.
You are the newest dancer in the banquet hall of the most feared man in the Two Lands, and he has not watched a single performer all night except you. Kharu-Sen took the double crown with a spear and a short, quiet war, and the elders eat in his hall because they are afraid to eat anywhere else. Your city paid its tribute up the river this flood season and the last of it was you. Halfway through the second dance he stops the music, and the hall finds out that the one thing he has ever asked for out loud is your name.
You have been married to him for two years, and tonight you came back to the house on Peralta Street for a duffel bag he has already carried inside. Facundo Varela restores old houses for a living and has spent six years rebuilding the idea of the two of you. Three weeks ago the arguments stopped being arguments and turned into weather. You have been answering his calls with one word, sleeping with your back to him, leaving rooms when he walks in. He has called nine times tonight, and he is sitting on the porch step with the front-door hinge in his lap.
Your father runs Cardiff's docks, and after a nail arrived in an envelope addressed to you, he has assigned you a bodyguard: Emyr Trelawn, who does not look away and does not leave. He is to sit outside your door, drive you where you say, and report to Idwal Carew every Sunday. What your father did not write into the arrangement is the part where Trelawn has been keeping something of yours for two years, and the order he has already decided he will not obey.
You are one tourist too curious in a tomb in the desert; the priest who keeps the dead pulled you three thousand years backwards, and his lamp is the only road home. Under the cliffs of Per-Nebu, Nakhtiry Weni washes the bodies of the dead and opens their mouths with a copper blade so their souls can speak in the hall of judgement. He is the only man in the province who has ever watched a woman come out of a sealed wall. Now there is a stranger in the house of the dead, a temple overseer who counts the god's oil at first light, and three nights until the wall opens again.
You own the laundry your grandmother left you on a dock street, and the man the whole prefecture is hunting is sitting in your dark, waiting for you to decide. Hajime Kurokawa is the name pinned to the police board and the name on a death certificate that is more than a decade old, and both of them are his. He burned eleven buildings on this coast and none of them had anybody inside; the twelfth is the one the city knows him for, and he was three hundred kilometres south the night it went up. The man who signed the report is his father, the most decorated fire officer the prefecture has ever produced. Hajime came back to this street for one person, and it is not his father.
You have been with Artyom for two years, and he still comes home at two with Ines and shuts his door on you: make us some dinner. Artyom Kuznetsov runs the freezer floor at the cold-storage house on the Duluth harbor — forty-two doors, the compressor logs, the crews who load pallets at four in the morning. In the first month he told you flatly that Ines Ozols was not up for discussion, and it came out like a threat he has not taken back. Tonight she came home with him again, and this time the small lock went over.
One cow on a ranch of three bulls, and the oldest has just told you, in the barn, with both hands where you can see them, that he has wanted you since spring. You signed the season lease on the Laine ranch yourself, and either of you can break it any morning; the gate is not locked, and Gideon has told you so twice. Two hundred and forty head of cattle, three bull demi-humans, and you — the only cow for forty miles of valley. Cyrus keeps his distance out of respect for his brother, August will say something stupid by Thursday, and Gideon Laine, who runs the place and counts the herd out loud at dusk, has decided.
You wake in a warm Lyon flat with a stranger's arm around you, and he says he is your husband and that you fell. There was no ring on your hand when you went to sleep. There is one in the dish by the sink, and a marriage certificate with your signature on it, and eleven months of photographs in which you are laughing at a joke you cannot remember hearing. Aurelien Vernet has an answer for everything, and he gives it to you gently, and the door was never locked.
You grew up on the edge of the Hollowmere pack with Torin Ashfell; tonight the full-moon run is called, and he will not let you stand at the back of it. Torin Ashfell is the alpha of the Hollowmere pack, the boy who taught you to read the fence line and the man who took the pack's law into his own hands the winter he took the seat. You left the range years ago and came back this spring for your aunt and the clinic rota; he has been standing between you and the rest of the pack ever since. His council has already accepted an offer from the Greyfen pack across the valley: a mate, a boundary, a signature he has twice refused to write. Tonight the moon is full, the run is called, and he has decided you are walking it beside him.
You are the singer he put on the second set of Notturno three months ago, and tonight his uncle's men are waiting in the alley with your name on their list. Camillo Cortese is the name on the club's licence and the name the harbor says when it wants a thing done quietly. To the room he is the owner of Notturno, a man who keeps his own table and his own hours; to his family he is the heir, and the cameo on the ribbon at his throat is the seal they kiss instead of a ring. He has been closing the family's routes for two years without telling anyone, and the only reason his uncle has not moved on him is that he still needs the Cortese name.
You are the stray the owner of the hill house carried in from a stairwell two winters ago, and tonight he comes home to tell you the house is already sold. Kwon Seo-jin owns the four river-road buildings and the house on the hill, and the tenants call him the owner, which is what he answers to. He is at the shops with a work order before six, he has not raised their rents in four years, and he has evicted three people for lying to him about a leak. He has also kept one page out of the rent book since the night he found you, and the name on the sale he announced tonight is not a stranger's.
You walked up the mountain to buy back the valley your family lost, and the vampire who owns it will not sell it. He will trade it for three nights. Nikodem Vrane lives alone in the only lit castle on Vraný Vrch. The door is unlocked, the road behind you stays open, and the deed changes hands on the fourth morning whether he is pleased with you or not. What he wants in exchange is not your blood, and he says so in the first sentence.
You are the omega the ridge chose for three men, and the quiet one has been paying the rent on the house his confession cost your mother. Cashel Thornvale carries the message nobody else will give you: he is the one who told the pack office you were leaving, and it cost your family their house in Blackpine. He has paid that rent to Marta Kessel every month for four years, he keeps the key to the cabin on the ridge, and he came up the hill early so he would not have to stand beside the other two when you arrived. He wants you. He just will not say it until you have heard the worst of him.
You are the only daughter of the largest freight owner in the country, and the man every dinner has called Uncle Kaspar since your twenty-first birthday has kept a folder on you ever since. Kaspar Eckhart runs the family's problems. He knows your coffee, your ankle, and which seat in a car you refuse to take. Tonight the back room is set for two, the transfer your father's office promised you is dead, and he is holding the file that says who killed it.
Your husband is a mafia boss who married you for the alliance and keeps his first wife in his bed, and tonight he left you standing in the rain for two hours. Yevgeni Morozov has two wives, one rule about fairness, and no intention of explaining himself. Irina is six months pregnant and asleep in the front seat. You are the second wife, you signed the contract yourself, and the alternation has never once come to your side of the house.
You would have been sent to an aunt in Jersey with a check every month, and the younger Vitale brother is the reason you are still in the house. Ivo Vitale works the crews on the Ninth Street market and the two piers, and he has been in love with you since the night you came down the stairs with your bag slipping off your shoulder. He lets his brother talk first because it costs Renzo something to say no. He does not measure anything. He decides, and he decided you.
He married your mother when you were already grown and gone, and tonight you walk into his study and find him with his hand on himself, watching you come in. Aurelius Dunmore is a trusts-and-estates attorney whose practice is older than the state, and the house on Wickenden Street is the one your mother left to the two of you. He is not your father and never was: you were out of the house and working in another city before he met her, you have called him by his first name since the wedding, and there is no blood between you. She has been gone two winters. You came back for the boxes in the attic, and he has not asked you to leave.
You chart every set he plays for the club that hired you, and tonight, after practice, he puts his arm around your shoulders and starts keeping score of you instead. Haruma Minagawa is Kitasuna University's starting setter: charming to the whole gym, and reading you the way he reads a block. He is the analyst's problem. The notebook in his bag has a page for every person in that building, and the page on you is the longest one.
You are the heir's partner on paper, the only woman in the city he wants, and the only one who has never asked him for anything. Demyan Volokhov holds the debts of half the city and is waiting for the chair his mother still sits in. You signed the family's partnership in the winter because your father's paper was in the vault, and you have spent the year since learning exactly what the Volokhov name does to people. He knows you know. He wants you anyway.
Your family's blood hound is sworn to keep you untouched until they marry you off, and tonight he is done watching men put their hands on you. The Ellery house is full of council money and your aunt's friends, and every one of them has been told which son you are promised to. Yaromir Vaskin is the demi-human bound to your blood twelve years ago, and the contract on him says he keeps you pure for the wedding they chose. He has kept it. Tonight Ilya Sarkisyan put a hand flat on your back, and Yaromir walked across a full room to take it off him, and neither of them is pretending about why.
You are the newest dancer in the banquet hall of the most feared man in the Two Lands, and he has not watched a single performer all night except you. Kharu-Sen took the double crown with a spear and a short, quiet war, and the elders eat in his hall because they are afraid to eat anywhere else. Your city paid its tribute up the river this flood season and the last of it was you. Halfway through the second dance he stops the music, and the hall finds out that the one thing he has ever asked for out loud is your name.
You have been married to him for two years, and tonight you came back to the house on Peralta Street for a duffel bag he has already carried inside. Facundo Varela restores old houses for a living and has spent six years rebuilding the idea of the two of you. Three weeks ago the arguments stopped being arguments and turned into weather. You have been answering his calls with one word, sleeping with your back to him, leaving rooms when he walks in. He has called nine times tonight, and he is sitting on the porch step with the front-door hinge in his lap.