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PRP 〔❁〕Cuz I could be your stocker

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Loner
Loner
Statistics
Species
Wolf

Sex
Cis Male (He/Him)

Age
3

Height
Average

Weight
Average

Build
Average

Eyes
Grey sclera, blue iris and a yellow ringed pupil.

Fur
Cream blanketed with various redish-browns, ticks and freckles throughout.

Oddities
Scarring on the left of his face, exposing a few teeth. Missing half of left ear.

Mark of Mythris
None


Posts

Threads

Rating
3L - 3S - 3V
Excessive/Strong Language, Strong Violence, Substance Abuse

Charismatic · Manipulative · Lonely · Misguided · Affable
#2
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Oliver himself had a similar dilemma — his time in Mythris, thus far, had lessened the sting of it.

His own losses — his culture, his life — had been an open and festering wound for quite some time, suspected even before his arrival here. He still couldn’t recall everything from before, still bits and pieces lacking a whole, but there were things that had been triggered to remembrance since Mythris. It grew that aching loneliness.

Tonight had been brewing his familiar torments, keeping him awake well past his usual time.

Footsteps were muffled amongst the leave litter, crickets chirping to cover it further. He was meandering, aimlessness directing his way away from the beach and towards the depths of the woods. He had no interest in visiting the water, hadn’t for days, avoiding it like it would reach out to pull him back — he figured that he might have let it if it meant he could have that connection again.

For the most part, his mind was purposefully empty and only half giving attention in case of something nefarious. Though when a gentle breeze brought along with it a scent that was unmistakable, he snapped his gaze in the direction of it. Someone was close, someone new. A grin fell across his face.

It took no time to find them — a woman in white — and he caught himself looking about the scene for a moment, steeped in shadow, before he took a tentative step into the small bit of space that she occupied. Oliver wouldn’t say a word, simply stood there once he was completely out of the underbrush and in her sightline. He wasn’t entirely sure what his goal was, seeking her out to begin with, but he was here.

He continued to look at her down his nose, and a few more moments of silence before, “Lass.”

Perfunctory, with little inflection aside from the accent that lilted his words. He held little expression, perhaps a small amount in the slight tilt backwards of his ear and a half. The man knew he was a sight — all dark and broody, his scars and exposed molars perhaps seen by the woman. He held little regard for how he currently came across, and whether he would change that remained to be seen.

I fear no evil — the shadow is mine, and so is the valley.


[Image: 121601666_0cOjSXfbvyr9Ul8.png]
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RE: 〔❁〕Cuz I could be your stocker - by Oliver - 6/20/2026, 6:47 PM

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