HannibalBarca
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2019
- Location
- At large, am tall.
Cross The Alps With Me
Welcome, one and all, to my collected information on who I am, what I like and don't like, what to expect of me and what I expect of you, and some of the stories I'd love to write with you.
Table of Contents
1. About Me
2. My Rules
3. Genres I'm Interested In Writing
4. My Kinds Of Characters
5. Ons And Offs
6. Pairings And Plots
7. Writing Samples
Welcome, one and all, to my collected information on who I am, what I like and don't like, what to expect of me and what I expect of you, and some of the stories I'd love to write with you.
Table of Contents
1. About Me
2. My Rules
3. Genres I'm Interested In Writing
4. My Kinds Of Characters
5. Ons And Offs
6. Pairings And Plots
7. Writing Samples
First, about me:
Let me just say that if you can get through everything I have written here, you're likely my kind of writer. I'm a 53 year old man who has written for 44 years. I have published some short stories in some very small press magazines, for little or no money, but have no other publishing credits other than some articles on some RPG sites several years ago. I've written on Elliquiy for almost ten years, and I have the desire to continue to write in-depth, complex characters and plots. I have played tabletop RPGs, primarily AD&D, Gamma World or Star Frontiers, since I was ten. I've also played MMORPGs (World of Warcraft, Guild Wars, D&D Online, Lord of the Rings Online), though I devote much more time to writing than playing games. They are a useful pastime, and the total immersion is relaxing for me on occasion. Much more enjoyable, however, is to immerse myself in a story with a like-minded person!
Similar to my namesake, I like the idea of the hopeless cause, and for the historic Hannibal Barca, his was such if ever there was one. For those who don't know that there was a Hannibal before the Cannibal one (or the A-Team one), Hannibal was that Hannibal that crossed the Alps into Roman territory to attack them and get them to back off of his city-state, Carthage. He ultimately failed, but is still one of the greatest, if not the greatest general of any age. I won't go into detail, but if you've ever heard someone mention the 'Pincers Tactic' in a battle (or Double Envelopment for the technically minded), that was originally him. Honor (a virtue combining respect and responsibility--of doing what is necessary and out of a sense of duty to others) is a big thing with me and with most of my characters, and Hannibal lived his life honorably, which is the biggest reason I honor him by using his name as my moniker.
If you got through that, you probably realize I am an historian, from ancient times to WWII. Traumatic and tempestuous times bring out the best and worst of humanity, and so do similar plots for the characters who reside within them. I don't expect those I write with to be masters of history, but I do get ideas myself from historical events on occasion, so if something seems familiar, it very well might be.
Second, my rules:
I will write with anyone regardless of sex or gender. If you can write well, I'm satisfied. I do expect a level of grammar, syntax, and spelling that marks you as competent with the English language. I love writing with writers from nations and languages other than mine (USA/English), but of course, the communication must be clear for the experience to be to my (and our) satisfaction. I will only write in the third person, past tense, unless there is a very good reason to do otherwise.
I consider myself an author first, and a roleplayer second. Really, I see what we do here as serial writing. For me--someone who grew up with tabletop roleplaying games like Dungeons & Dragons--the writing aspect comes first before everything. This is why it makes no difference to me who writes with me, or what your actual sex or gender is--that is completely irrelevant to the fiction we create. Likewise, I have no problem playing any kind of character in a roleplay, regardless of their difference from me physically or mentally--writers are supposed to be able to separate themselves from their creations and whip up anything necessary to advance the plot. The difference here, to me, is that my--and our--writing is meant only to satisfy an audience of two--you and me.
I prefer writing through PMs, forums, or Discord. I like our writing being saved as a collected whole, and to make that simpler, I don't use IMs like Microsoft or Yahoo Messenger, or other chat-type services. When I write, I tend to produce 3-4 paragraphs or more, sometimes the equivalent of 2 pages or more...I once started a story with a six-page entrance post. When writing with me, expect sentence length variety, but lots of long sentences filled with detail and action. I love the written word, so if you're into less dense writing, I'm likely not your cup of tea. I almost never write one paragraph or less...unless the situation calls for it. If you are in the middle of a soliloquy or a major piece of exposition, I'll reply with what is necessary and not cramp your style. I ask only for the same. I'm not as bothered by short responses, but only when necessary or required. Continued one sentence responses send me the message that you're not interested in writing anymore. It is much better to contact me OOC and discuss any problems you have. I'll be honest and up-front with you; please do the same for me.
As for my response time...that depends on RL, which, as I'm sure you know, is not under our control for the most part. I post on average a little more than once a week. Writing with me can be an exercise in patience, but I believe it is worth waiting for. Likewise, I'm glacially patient when it comes to my partners responding--I dislike hypocrisy, and I'll never consider our RP over unless you specifically tell me it is so. For me, an unfinished RP is just that--and I always leave the door open to continue it, even if you happen to disappear for several months. It's happened before, and I've picked the RP back up with that partner, though after we've both re-read it to refresh the storyline in our minds.
Third, my primary interests:
Genre | | | Examples |
Low Fantasy | | | Game of Thrones |
High Fantasy | | | The Lord of the Rings, The Wheel of Time |
Sword & Sorcery | | | Conan novels, Lankhmar stories |
Science Fantasy | | | Star Wars |
Soft Science Fiction | | | The Foundation Trilogy, BattleStar Galactica |
Dystopian Worlds | | | The Matrix, Blade Runner |
Apocalyptic Earth | | | Mad Max, Shadowrun, ummm...remember Thundarr the Barbarian? but adult... |
Modern World | | | Romance, Conflict, Struggles of life—but on the Earth of today |
Time/Planar Travel | | | The Chronicles of Amber, Elric/Corum, Time Bandits |
Historical Fiction | | | Fictional characters in historical settings |
Alternate History | | | AKA counterfactual history, the classic What If... plots |
Regardless of genre, I like complex and sprawling worlds and plots, and growing in detail and skill as we write together. I like ruins of the ancients, lost technology just rediscovered, heroes who fail but succeed in failure, villains you feel pity for or can't help but love, clever teachers and mentors who offer guidance on life and live it themselves--or battle to do so consistently, feral villains and heroes, nice-guy heroes and villains, conflicted characters battling their own inner demons(and outer demons too), demon characters battling their own inner conflicts (and outer conflicts too), strong male and female characters—strong in willpower and attitude, over-the top but well-choreographed battle scenes, and incredible, world-shaking sex when it is appropriate to the plot (romantic, vanilla or smutty).
Fourth, my characters:
I predominantly write dominant or at least switch male protagonists. My female protagonists tend to be more varied. As I'm a guy, and I tend to relate to characters more like me, I write primary characters like me more often than not. This isn't to say I won't write a submissive male occasionally--see my cravings for one particular submissive male I'd love to write as a change of pace. I like to challenge myself like any good writer, but as I'm not writing here to please a publishing company or an audience larger than you, me, or a group, I'll stick to what we both agree on enjoying.
I have a few recurring characters in my writing, and most of them are of the time/planar traveling sort, thus explaining finding the same character in various genres, as I love the idea of time-traveling, multiverse-hopping adventurers. I know from reading other writer's O&Os that some of you dislike your partner reusing a character. I don't consider it reusing--I consider it continuing a personality I have grown and established, and seek further depth and detail of their personality. Often they are the most fascinating characters to write opposite of, if they are written well. I may wish to use one of these characters in our story, per your agreement, but it doesn't necessarily need to be a time/planar travel story, just a particular genre the character happens to show up in. This gives me the chance to grow the character, in experience, wisdom, and age, and see their personality change. Further below, if you hang on that long, you'll be able to check out some of these recurring characters, particularly Cammi, the love of my heart, and a woman of many, many faces...okay, one pretty face, but a lot of roles, genres, and settings.
Fifth, the sex:
Yes, this is an adult site, I am an adult, and I've had real sex. We deal in fantasies, we put fetishes in our stories, and our characters can and do engage in carnal delights of whatever variety we agree on. Check my ons and offs below to be sure. I don't do gore, vore, snuff, scat or watersports. Other than that, I may write it with you if it tickles my fancy. I will, depending on my mood, wish to use M/s, D/s, a Dom or sub or switch character, BDSM, or none at all. A lot of it depends on what you like as well.
I've written a few homosexual primary characters, male and female, but rarely do so; more than likely if one of my characters is boinking someone of the same gender, she's a she and bisexual. I otherwise try to include non-straight and non-cisgender supporting characters in my stories when possible, as this is simply more realistic.
And now, forward to my Ons and Offs...
Ons:
Sizeplay:
I greatly enjoy sizeplay...it is my number one turn-on. I almost exclusively write petite female characters when I play a female, and prefer playing opposite of one if you're willing; likewise I enjoy writing as tall male characters, or playing opposite them as well. Often we go with what we know or are--I'm 6'5" in RL, and the women I've been predominantly attracted to have always been petite. I've mellowed on this with age, and no longer focus just on petite women, but still prefer it in RP. It takes all kinds, but these are RP and fiction stories, and I am here to enjoy them, as you are. I can play characters of heights other than my preferred, but there should be a good reason for it. Most of the ons of female writers that I've written with seem to enjoy tall male characters anyway...so give me a woman resembling Emilia Clarke, Emily Browning, AnaSophia Robb, or going back a bit further, Carrie Fisher, Judy Garland, or even Clara Bow--and I'm in heaven.
M/S and D/s:
I don't always crave this, but when I do, I really want it. I spent a significant portion of my teen years reading John Norman's Gor series, and if you know what that is, then you can probably understand how that writing could have a formative influence on my sexual interests. To clarify, however--I mean M/s and D/s where the Master or Dominant has the best interests of his/her slave or submissive at heart. I'm not so into sadistic characters. I'm sure most people on Elliquiy have heard it before, but it bears repeating: most sexual fiction revolving around M/s and D/s is based on a willing submissive or slave. There might be a nonconsensual beginning to the relationship, but it doesn't stay that way. Often the journey for the two weaves through the slave/submissive's gradual understanding and acceptance of their nature...other times the submissive is eager and willing to take their place at the feet of their Master/Dominant. Note: Christian Grey was a horrible Dominant. No safe words, no aftercare...no fucking way.
Submissive Lovers:
Ah, yes...there's nothing like a woman who stands up to all kinds of shit and stress during the day, with nary a batted eyelash, but when she gets home and her man takes her into his arms, she just melts into him. Submissive in a sexual context is what this means, so it generally describes the woman's behavior in the bedroom, or wherever sexual behavior takes place. She can be outgoing, aggressive, feisty, headstrong, a queen who commands dragons and a hundred-thousand man army who all fall at her feet and worship her--but when it's time to be intimate, she wants a strong man who can direct things and make her feel, even if only when they are in bed, that she can let go and let someone else be the leader. Note that this doesn't mean catatonic, people--she doesn't just lie there while he rides a sex doll with a heartbeat--it means she lets the man lead the action, and lets is an important word here. A sex scene with a strong man and a submissive woman isn't non-con...she gives up her power willingly, in exchange for, among many other things, the feelings of comfort, security, and desirability. On the other hand, we may have...
Feisty, Resistant Lovers:
Maybe she didn't want to be married off to this hunky, arrogant, and crude foreign lord. Maybe he already has a love of his heart, but mom and dad say he's got to marry this girl for the good of both of their families. Maybe she's been lustfully attracted to this bad-boy type for a while, but doesn't want to give in to 'his kind'. Maybe he just loves to be contrary and headstrong. Maybe she's a feisty, teasing, self-confident little minx who expects him to work for it and prove himself. Either way, it leads to a lot of physical play in the bedroom or wherever they are when the fireworks start. Hot, wild sex ensues, along with all of the reckless, lust-driven, can't-get-enough-of-you behaviors it entails. By the end, they may have engaged in wild stuff that results in: both having bruises in lots of places from their complete abandon, probably knots on the back of their heads when they took turns shoving the other against a wall and ravishing them, chafed and red skin around their wrists or even necks, long or short scratches on backs, arms, legs, and sometimes faces, bite marks from either uncontrolled lust or maybe the need to mark the other as 'theirs', and a lot of articles of ripped, ruined clothing on the floor. Just how intense or extreme depends on what we agree upon. We can bring out the animal in both of our characters to great effect. Or...
Romantic, Vanilla Sex:
In some stories, it's the only kind that fits, and sometimes it's what I'm in the mood for. I know most people relate vanilla with blandness or lack of flavor, but those people have never tasted a real vanilla bean. No, vanilla sex can be incredibly, emotionally intense, because there aren't any kinks or fetishes to fill up the paragraphs with, and usually, the characters are much more emotionally invested in one another. Lots of close, intimate physical and eye contact, gentle caresses, tender, loving words, exploration of each others' bodies; the sex can be slow and purposely drawn out, or fast and noisy with lots of exclamations of affection or begging for another release...oh god, please baby...do it to me again. Vanilla doesn't equal silent, either. Which leads to...
Noisy Lovers:
God, I love a woman who expresses herself during sex with her words, or with just her own primal cries and moans. Explicit words can be used or not, depending on your preference; I don't mind either way, so let's be sure you're satisfied with that choice, but whatever your character is thinking needs to be coming out of her mouth as squeals of delight, helpless and uninhibited whimpers, or a long, gasping string of oh gods and fuck mes.
Rough Sex:
Like vanilla sex, sometimes a story (and a partner) demands it. This also crosses over with Resistant Lovers earlier in my ons. There are lots of reason why rough sex can happen in a plot: Lovers who've been denied even the simplest touch for months because of circumstances...two strangers thrust together by a common enemy and constant danger, the close contact of each other's bodies slowly building up their sexual frustration, until the first calm moment they have, it bursts out and they're on each other, kissing and grinding away, before their brains are even aware of it...it's that kind of story, he's her Master, she's his slave or pet or some other appropriate name, and she both wants and needs that sensation of being controlled and helpless, forcefully taken by a man who leaves her breathless, eager, and trembling with both fear and desire.
Incest:
This is another kink I've added over the years of roleplaying. There's something inherently intense about an incestuous relationship that guarantees there will be tension and conflict, which is what a good plot is all about. There has to be some common sense to such a plot, though, or it all falls apart. I'm not into sex-all-the-time incest plots, but the ones where the tension and frustration build to a level that's unbearable for the parties involved, so...
Build-Ups:
Another thing most writers seem to agree on. Sex from the get-go isn't much more than a porn flick in words, and we all know what the internet is for... The longer the passion is restrained, the greater the frustration, the more they try to fight or hide or deny their attraction, the more powerful the catharsis is when they do finally release their own self restraint. Oh, and the sex scenes just sizzle because of it.
Oral, Giving or Receiving:
Just...yes. Hell yes. Man or woman, it's usually a tremendous, erotic thrill to see your lover on his or her knees or lying between your legs, focusing completely on your pleasure alone. It's an act of giving, unselfish and expressive, and yet, it also leaves the receiver in a vulnerable state, so it also includes themes of trust and devotion, if you take the writing that far. And there is a reason why eye contact during it drives most of us wild--that intimate connection through our vision speaks a thousand words, most of them boiling down to 'I love to do this to you, I need to do this to you, and I want to see you squirm and groan and run your fingers through my hair, and generally lose your mind from the pleasure'. Plus, it fits any spectrum of intimacy, from the most basic to the most out-of-this-world between two fetish fanatics.
Romance in General:
I love Love. Call me what you will...I don't have any problem with men being romantic as well as women. I love women of all kinds, even if I have favorites, and I believe, regardless of one's sexual orientation, that we all can, and should, love one another, especially that special someone (or someones, if it is that kind of story). I'm a sucker for the 'love denied' plots, the 'no idea they love one another' couples, the 'best friends...until that one night...' stories. I enjoy 'love at first sight' beginnings, 'love-hate' relationships that eventually fall, hard, onto the side of love, and 'forbidden love' because of social status, orientation, religion, or any other factor that tries--and fails--to keep our characters apart. Do I love a happy ending? Hell yes! With romantic and sexual plots, what point is there to a Romeo and Juliet plot, unless it's your thing to enjoy suffering as well? If that's the case, we can do that, too...but only every so often. Really, happiness is my thing, and there isn't much happier than a happy romantic ending.
Offs:
Gore, Vore, or Excessive Blood:
In the context of the plot or a particular scene, I have no problem with the horrors of war, cannibalism, or an elf-lord bleeding out helplessly as he dies, alone, the last of his kind. These have to be integral to the plot, not gratuitous. But in intimacy, these are straight Nos for me. A little blood from scratches or prior injuries during sex is no big deal, though.
Scat/Watersports:
Not my thing, 'nuff said.
Certain words:
Odd that a guy like me who grew up in a military family, with an Air Force father, two Army uncles, and grandfathers who served in the Navy and Marines, should have an aversion to some foul language, considering how much of it I heard! I hold no one else accountable for their own language, as I believe in freedom of speech...but I myself avoid certain words because of my own feelings about them. For example, bitch. I've never called a woman (or man for that matter) a bitch in RL just because of the connotations it carries of inferiority and valuelessness. If someone wants to see me go from zero to enraged in two seconds flat, all they have to do is use the word in regards to a female in my family. In a story, much the same, unless my character is talking to a puppygirl or something, and she is a literal bitch. Likewise, I won't use n----r or f-g for the same reasons. I was exposed to some caustic, denigrating terminology by one grandfather who was an avowed racist and homophobe, and the fact that my grandmother was his exact opposite speaks a lot to the kind of respectful man my father grew up to be. I've dedicated myself to being the same accepting kind of person...and while I might create some truly awful antagonists, even they won't resort to things that will make my skin crawl if I write them.
Snuff, Asphyxiation, and Endless Torture/Pain:
All four of these fit under the same category for me. I mean, I can understand angry sex, but sex while trying to kill your partner? Okay, if it's a scene with an undercover agent and they've gained the trust of their lover, who they then kill, I get it...but not with one or both of them enjoying the murder as part of the sex. Gahh...no. And as for torture, and extreme pain, much the same--I'm not into Sadism or Masochism, although I don't abhor them, either...I've mellowed somewhat since I joined E, which I see happens to many of us here. For my characters, I don't enjoy the thought of a side of intense suffering with their serving of intimacy. Dishing it out is different, however--if it's your thing to see your characters hurt, more power to you, and I can do that; I like to be sure my writing partner is happy, even if that means their character isn't! If the plot requires me to play a cruel Master/Mistress or Dom(me), that's simple enough, and inflicting some pain is to be expected--some. Breath control till unconsciousness, or asphyxiation is out, too, for the same reason. My villains might be awful, and my protagonists flawed left and right, but I can't get into a character who wishes to inflict heavy, continuous doses of purposeful pain and suffering on someone they supposedly love or desire, post after post.
Pedophilia:
Do I even have to explain this? I'm a father and uncle, and just the thought of it makes my vision go red.
Rape:
Non-consenting yes; rape no. There is a difference between them in fiction writing, and if you don't know how to tell, it will help you a lot here at E if you learn to understand that difference.
Sixth, my cravings:
Over the years, I found I usually had very few stories I absolutely needed to write. Then, as I got into one-on-one and group writing online, I found my cravings growing as I discovered more and more incredibly interesting plot ideas and settings. Some of these I've played before, and some of them I've heard of and become voraciously hungry for. So, without further ado, my wants and needs, rated from 1 (interested want) to 5 (insatiably obsessed need) asterisks, with boldface my character...if there is no boldface, then I'll play either:
m mage x f mage – high fantasy, modern fantasy ***
f furry x m human – any fantasy, science fiction, dystopian worlds, apocalyptic future ****
f furry x m furry (different species) – same as above **
m human x f succubus – high fantasy ****
m assassin x f princess/queen – any fantasy ****
m assassin x f mage – high fantasy ****
f demon x m human warrior – high fantasy ****
f demon x m elf – high fantasy ****
m demon x f mage – high fantasy ****
m demon x f elf – high fantasy ****
m demon x f warrior – high fantasy ****
m human x f human – science fiction, dystopian worlds, apocalyptic future, modern world **
m human x f near-human (anthro alien) – science fiction, dystopian worlds, apocalyptic future *
m minotaur x f furry – high fantasy, science fiction ***
m minotaur x f demon - high fantasy, science fiction ***
m minotaur x f human - high fantasy, science fiction ***
Tall Male Leads ( ***** ):
Think of the men in the spoiler below as a visual representation of the type of guys I tend to love to represent my male characters. While not a necessity, I prefer to play men who are tall, athletic, ruggedly handsome, whiskered, and have predominantly dark hair. They also tend to be dominant, although, again, this is not a given if you prefer something else.
Petite Female Leads( ***** ):
As a visual representation of the type of females I either love to play, or play opposite of, think of these ideal (at least to me) women in the images collected below. Along with the given physical characteristic of petite size/indefinably beautiful face and the prevalent dark hair, I usually play them as very strong-willed, independent, and competent in their respective career/talent/skills. For me, there is something incredibly attractive in a woman who is petite and yet doesn't take shit from anyone...perhaps some overcompensation is going on with them, and they go above and beyond to let everyone know they won't ever be ignored or walked on.
Natalie Portman
Danielle Harris
Ellen Page
Jessica Parker Kennedy
Kerli Koiv
Emily Browning
Emilia Clarke
AnnaSophia Robb
Lucy Hale
Dove Cameron
As well, here are some other women who are not necessarily short and/or petite, but still beautiful and intriguing:
Kaya Scodelario
Ana De Armas
Winona Ryder
Zooey Deschanel
Ruby Rose
Willa Holland
Nadia Esra
Emily Rudd
Danielle Harris
Ellen Page
Jessica Parker Kennedy
Kerli Koiv
Emily Browning
Emilia Clarke
AnnaSophia Robb
Lucy Hale
Dove Cameron
As well, here are some other women who are not necessarily short and/or petite, but still beautiful and intriguing:
Kaya Scodelario
Ana De Armas
Winona Ryder
Zooey Deschanel
Ruby Rose
Willa Holland
Nadia Esra
Emily Rudd
Specific Plot Cravings (All ****** on a scale of 5):
Genre: Modern, Hard Rock/Metal Band
Primaries: M human/F human, incest, equals or dom/sub, consensual
Extras: Sizeplay, romance, vanilla or light bondage
This plot involves my character, the leader of a rock band, and either his sister-in-law, sister, or daughter, depending on the level of incest agreed upon. The family of my character has had many issues, including suicide, drug overdoses, and mental illnesses, and he and your character are the only two still alive. Your character will have joined the band at the tail end of their last tour, replacing a long-time member who was done with the lifestyle. There will have been some sexual tension in our characters' history, though nothing serious--just a seed from which to grow the relationship, once they are on tour for their new album. The proximity they have to one another on the bus, day after day, and the attraction they have felt for some time--though never spoken of--should lead to some out-of-this-world tension.
Primaries: M human/F human, incest, equals or dom/sub, consensual
Extras: Sizeplay, romance, vanilla or light bondage
This plot involves my character, the leader of a rock band, and either his sister-in-law, sister, or daughter, depending on the level of incest agreed upon. The family of my character has had many issues, including suicide, drug overdoses, and mental illnesses, and he and your character are the only two still alive. Your character will have joined the band at the tail end of their last tour, replacing a long-time member who was done with the lifestyle. There will have been some sexual tension in our characters' history, though nothing serious--just a seed from which to grow the relationship, once they are on tour for their new album. The proximity they have to one another on the bus, day after day, and the attraction they have felt for some time--though never spoken of--should lead to some out-of-this-world tension.
Genre: Very Dark Fantasy, low or high
Primaries: M human assassin/F royal/noble human, D/s
Extras: Sizeplay, BDSM, sex apparel, consensual
Plot: Our characters knew each other as children, YC as a noble's/wealthy merchant's daughter, or princess, MC as one of your servants. MC grows up with YC and they develop an intensely strong bond, especially because MC represents a kind of freedom YC is not allowed to indulge in, as she is kept inside the palace/compound/castle—except when MC sneaks her out into the city and/or nearby countryside to play and explore in. YC's father has also raised her to know something other than courtly female behavior--whether swordplay, magecraft, or political manipulating and scheming, is up to you.
This somewhat idyllic, happy life continued for them until our characters were entering adolescence...and thoroughly falling in love. That was when YC's father/mother/whoever noticed YC's behavior towards MC and decided to put YC into the expected tasks of a woman in wealthy/noble/royal society—court etiquette, directing servants efficiently, tapestry-making, etc. YC thoroughly despised this, trying to secretly practice her original, beloved studies. They also hire a new steward with a son of MC's age...and that new steward saw that he needed to invent a lie to separate our characters and insert his son as YC's new best friend. MC ends up framed, beaten savagely by the steward's son, and left for dead in an alley gutter, where he is found by a relatively new assassin, who brings MC into the guild as a young man with just what the guild wants—a young man with no security and no options, with a reason to hate, and a reason to kill. YC never finds out what happened to MC, and while she misses him terribly, as the years go by, MC becomes an obsessive, cherished memory, and a recurrent fantasy of what might have been, often a wild, erotic fantasy for YC. The steward's son, meanwhile, far from becoming a friend, becomes the focus of YC anger and blame for the disappearance of MC, not knowing just how correct she is. YC develops a special taste for domination, becoming an intriguing mix of sweetly innocent and harshly deviant...depending on who she is around and how she feels. For the steward's son, YC became his nightmare, unable to leave as a servant, and unable to escape the nightmare of abuse and suffering until the time when YC decides he must die, and dominates him so fully, he kills himself at her word.
Eventually, at age 20, YC is betrothed to a neighboring king/warlord/uber-rich merchant/etc., and is married off, quickly settling in to her new role, and bringing her dual behavior to her new home as well. YC does not love her new husband, but is not able to dominate him, as he is too dominant himself/violent/old for her to be able to, but she seethes with the need to dominate someone, and does so to everyone beneath her, which is everyone, except her husband. While she gives her body to him as she must in their society, she is cold and closed to him, as she fantasizes of her lost love, and takes out her displeasure with her husband and her necessity to obey him by toying with servants mentally, emotionally, and physically too, when the need arises. She is feared by all, but with her exotically and scandalously erotic wardrobe hand-made for the greatest effect on the viewer, also desired by most, even with her diminutive size (or more likely because of it, as she plays completely to her strengths with the body she has).
MC, meanwhile, has risen in the ranks as a lethal assassin, and is expected to become one of the outer circle soon (then inner circle, grandmasters, and perhaps someday guildmaster, he hopes). He disassociates himself from those he kills by rationalizing in some way that they are just like the steward's son who ruined his first life, and took him from his sweet lady/princess. She has become an idolized dream in his mind, almost a patron saint, or a goddess to him. On his most recent mission, to a far-off kingdom, he is to slay a queen/noble lady/merchant's wife, who turns out to be YC...and when he recognizes her, abandons all thought of killing her and pledges undying love to her as her humble servant and guardian. YC, meanwhile, is overjoyed beyond belief at the sudden appearance of MC—after she finally believes he isn't going to kill her. As she hears of his tale, she cleverly sees the perfect, beautiful possibilities of them together. In his uniquely-twisted mind, she is the immaculately perfect virgin girl, now an immaculately perfect virgin woman, as beautiful and pure as a goddess, which is how he treats her—as a woman to be worshiped and obeyed as the ideal perfection. In her uniquely-twisted mind, he is her dream love—but one she sees both wants and loves to be dominated, which is perfect for her, as he is the only man who deserves to be treated with both love and control at the same time...she is the only woman to him, and he is the only man for her, in their perfectly functioning dysfunctional relationship (well, dysfunctional in a bad way for others, but not for each other).
Together, they do away with her unwanted husband, many of his underlings that have foolishly stood against her machinations, and then do one or more of several things: make off with much wealth and seek adventure, set up in her new home with her as the iron-fisted ruler and him as her deadly, devoted consort, or some version of that coupling. She can be a sorceress, a deadly warrior in her own right, or a master manipulator in court politics and world events. He can, with her help, take over their city's assassin's guild, drive out the thieves' guild, and infiltrate the city with his disguised killers, spreading fear and paranoia among the populace. They may rise to a world power, or dominate not only their world, but other worlds through magic as she gains more and more power and darkness. MC, meanwhile, follows her every command, growing in power himself, and spreading the rumor of his terror and unstoppable deadliness, keeping all in fear of his near-invisible, inevitable strike.
I envision this story as a long-term, continuing tale of the couple's rise in power. It is meant to be a dark, sinister tale—except for their total and undying love for each other, in their own twisted ways. It should have at least light bondage, as that would fit both of the character's personalities. I'm not a normal player of submissive males, but being interested in it, and finding rare opportunities to play submissives, this would be a treat.
Primaries: M human assassin/F royal/noble human, D/s
Extras: Sizeplay, BDSM, sex apparel, consensual
Plot: Our characters knew each other as children, YC as a noble's/wealthy merchant's daughter, or princess, MC as one of your servants. MC grows up with YC and they develop an intensely strong bond, especially because MC represents a kind of freedom YC is not allowed to indulge in, as she is kept inside the palace/compound/castle—except when MC sneaks her out into the city and/or nearby countryside to play and explore in. YC's father has also raised her to know something other than courtly female behavior--whether swordplay, magecraft, or political manipulating and scheming, is up to you.
This somewhat idyllic, happy life continued for them until our characters were entering adolescence...and thoroughly falling in love. That was when YC's father/mother/whoever noticed YC's behavior towards MC and decided to put YC into the expected tasks of a woman in wealthy/noble/royal society—court etiquette, directing servants efficiently, tapestry-making, etc. YC thoroughly despised this, trying to secretly practice her original, beloved studies. They also hire a new steward with a son of MC's age...and that new steward saw that he needed to invent a lie to separate our characters and insert his son as YC's new best friend. MC ends up framed, beaten savagely by the steward's son, and left for dead in an alley gutter, where he is found by a relatively new assassin, who brings MC into the guild as a young man with just what the guild wants—a young man with no security and no options, with a reason to hate, and a reason to kill. YC never finds out what happened to MC, and while she misses him terribly, as the years go by, MC becomes an obsessive, cherished memory, and a recurrent fantasy of what might have been, often a wild, erotic fantasy for YC. The steward's son, meanwhile, far from becoming a friend, becomes the focus of YC anger and blame for the disappearance of MC, not knowing just how correct she is. YC develops a special taste for domination, becoming an intriguing mix of sweetly innocent and harshly deviant...depending on who she is around and how she feels. For the steward's son, YC became his nightmare, unable to leave as a servant, and unable to escape the nightmare of abuse and suffering until the time when YC decides he must die, and dominates him so fully, he kills himself at her word.
Eventually, at age 20, YC is betrothed to a neighboring king/warlord/uber-rich merchant/etc., and is married off, quickly settling in to her new role, and bringing her dual behavior to her new home as well. YC does not love her new husband, but is not able to dominate him, as he is too dominant himself/violent/old for her to be able to, but she seethes with the need to dominate someone, and does so to everyone beneath her, which is everyone, except her husband. While she gives her body to him as she must in their society, she is cold and closed to him, as she fantasizes of her lost love, and takes out her displeasure with her husband and her necessity to obey him by toying with servants mentally, emotionally, and physically too, when the need arises. She is feared by all, but with her exotically and scandalously erotic wardrobe hand-made for the greatest effect on the viewer, also desired by most, even with her diminutive size (or more likely because of it, as she plays completely to her strengths with the body she has).
MC, meanwhile, has risen in the ranks as a lethal assassin, and is expected to become one of the outer circle soon (then inner circle, grandmasters, and perhaps someday guildmaster, he hopes). He disassociates himself from those he kills by rationalizing in some way that they are just like the steward's son who ruined his first life, and took him from his sweet lady/princess. She has become an idolized dream in his mind, almost a patron saint, or a goddess to him. On his most recent mission, to a far-off kingdom, he is to slay a queen/noble lady/merchant's wife, who turns out to be YC...and when he recognizes her, abandons all thought of killing her and pledges undying love to her as her humble servant and guardian. YC, meanwhile, is overjoyed beyond belief at the sudden appearance of MC—after she finally believes he isn't going to kill her. As she hears of his tale, she cleverly sees the perfect, beautiful possibilities of them together. In his uniquely-twisted mind, she is the immaculately perfect virgin girl, now an immaculately perfect virgin woman, as beautiful and pure as a goddess, which is how he treats her—as a woman to be worshiped and obeyed as the ideal perfection. In her uniquely-twisted mind, he is her dream love—but one she sees both wants and loves to be dominated, which is perfect for her, as he is the only man who deserves to be treated with both love and control at the same time...she is the only woman to him, and he is the only man for her, in their perfectly functioning dysfunctional relationship (well, dysfunctional in a bad way for others, but not for each other).
Together, they do away with her unwanted husband, many of his underlings that have foolishly stood against her machinations, and then do one or more of several things: make off with much wealth and seek adventure, set up in her new home with her as the iron-fisted ruler and him as her deadly, devoted consort, or some version of that coupling. She can be a sorceress, a deadly warrior in her own right, or a master manipulator in court politics and world events. He can, with her help, take over their city's assassin's guild, drive out the thieves' guild, and infiltrate the city with his disguised killers, spreading fear and paranoia among the populace. They may rise to a world power, or dominate not only their world, but other worlds through magic as she gains more and more power and darkness. MC, meanwhile, follows her every command, growing in power himself, and spreading the rumor of his terror and unstoppable deadliness, keeping all in fear of his near-invisible, inevitable strike.
I envision this story as a long-term, continuing tale of the couple's rise in power. It is meant to be a dark, sinister tale—except for their total and undying love for each other, in their own twisted ways. It should have at least light bondage, as that would fit both of the character's personalities. I'm not a normal player of submissive males, but being interested in it, and finding rare opportunities to play submissives, this would be a treat.
This plot idea is one I created with Yggdrasil, a friend and longtime Elliquiy member. It is a high fantasy concept, with a dark elf and a human princess who are about as different a pair as can be—at first appearances. Tying them together is a sense of alienation with their own kind. My character, the dark elf, has some surface elf blood in his veins, and unlike most of his kind, actually possesses empathy, which has been a hindrance for him in his culture. Her problem is also genes and environment—born with hair and eyes different from her family's...and also born with latent magic powers that are forced to be kept dormant by a ring she must wear at all times. These differences inherently make her the problem child of the family through no choice of her own, and no amount of proper behavior can redeem her in their eyes.
Oh, and he's been sent to assassinate her. Yeah. Her royal family and kingdom are bitter enemies of his, and as one of the most skilled members of the guild, my character has been sent forth—although as a male, he's considered a somewhat expendable piece by the matriarchal society of the dark elves. Add to this that he carries the title of unbeaten duelist within his city, and several of his guild cohorts would like to own that title without facing him personally...
The character dynamic is that of experience vs innocence, although who is experienced and who is innocent depends on the facet of their respective personalities being dealt with. Of course, he doesn't kill her, but ends up kidnapping her, as something he notices at the sight of her stays his hand—the aura of unknown magic, the curious ring on her finger, or something else.
This initial change of heart sets in motion their eventual relationship, two individuals both very different and very alike, set together by more than the hand of fate—by the hand of a goddess intent on seeing them as the progenitors of a better understanding between their two peoples.
Aside from the basic plot concepts, virtually everything is open to discussion. It's meant to be a long-term rp, and I very much hope it becomes such.
As a note: Any similarities to Drizzt are purely coincidental, as I've never read any novels of the character. I find his name coming up often in discussions with other writers who use dark elves, and I hardly want to imitate such a well-known character.
Oh, and he's been sent to assassinate her. Yeah. Her royal family and kingdom are bitter enemies of his, and as one of the most skilled members of the guild, my character has been sent forth—although as a male, he's considered a somewhat expendable piece by the matriarchal society of the dark elves. Add to this that he carries the title of unbeaten duelist within his city, and several of his guild cohorts would like to own that title without facing him personally...
The character dynamic is that of experience vs innocence, although who is experienced and who is innocent depends on the facet of their respective personalities being dealt with. Of course, he doesn't kill her, but ends up kidnapping her, as something he notices at the sight of her stays his hand—the aura of unknown magic, the curious ring on her finger, or something else.
This initial change of heart sets in motion their eventual relationship, two individuals both very different and very alike, set together by more than the hand of fate—by the hand of a goddess intent on seeing them as the progenitors of a better understanding between their two peoples.
Aside from the basic plot concepts, virtually everything is open to discussion. It's meant to be a long-term rp, and I very much hope it becomes such.
As a note: Any similarities to Drizzt are purely coincidental, as I've never read any novels of the character. I find his name coming up often in discussions with other writers who use dark elves, and I hardly want to imitate such a well-known character.
This idea is based in Star Wars: Old Republic timeline. MC is a grey Jedi in his 30s or 40s who has served the Order and the Republic faithfully, but his ideas are quite outside the acceptable by the Council. He's done what he can over the years, but the longer he has lived, the more he has seen that the Order is denying the very thing that most people fight and live for: love and attachment.
Much of his disillusionment comes from a former love he had. She could have been a Jedi herself, or any number of other professions, but she ended up dying at some point. His training helped him over the grief, but the experience helped form his beliefs into a completely new system, one at odds with the disconnect Jedi are taught to have. He eventually comes at odds with the rest of the Council, and while he has tried to change the system from within, he is eventually seen as too disruptive, and a threat to the stability of the Order itself. He's too radical to be allowed to teach his beliefs. He's already been prevented from taking a new padawan for some years, and while out of respect for his prowess and heroics he was allowed to stay on the Council, he finally pushes them too far and he is removed from the Council. He is not an evil person, but like Qui-Gon Jinn much later, his beliefs are simply too extreme for the Council. He decides to leave the Order then, and continue to fight for the Republic in his own way.
YC is a feisty padawan, close to taking her trials, who has recently lost her own master. She has her own ideals as well, but doesn't have the gravitas to do anything about it. Perhaps she has some skeletons in her own closet, or her own lost love in the past. At some time in the recent past, she came across or studied in some capacity under MC, and it was a revelation to her. To know that someone was of a like mind, and a Master Jedi on the Council at that. She's a bit of a loner due to her beliefs, and when MC leaves the Order, she makes a momentous decision and quits as well, hoping that MC will take her on as a padawan...and perhaps, something more.
It's up in the air whether YC is already smitten by mine or vice versa, but it can also start out with them platonic, their common interests as grey Jedi having them joining forces. The plot lends itself to more D/s plots, but that angle isn't necessary. An event or two where their lives are on the line will cement more than just their trust in one another, however. With both of them believing positive attachment is a good thing, it won't be long before they are more than just master and student...
Much of his disillusionment comes from a former love he had. She could have been a Jedi herself, or any number of other professions, but she ended up dying at some point. His training helped him over the grief, but the experience helped form his beliefs into a completely new system, one at odds with the disconnect Jedi are taught to have. He eventually comes at odds with the rest of the Council, and while he has tried to change the system from within, he is eventually seen as too disruptive, and a threat to the stability of the Order itself. He's too radical to be allowed to teach his beliefs. He's already been prevented from taking a new padawan for some years, and while out of respect for his prowess and heroics he was allowed to stay on the Council, he finally pushes them too far and he is removed from the Council. He is not an evil person, but like Qui-Gon Jinn much later, his beliefs are simply too extreme for the Council. He decides to leave the Order then, and continue to fight for the Republic in his own way.
YC is a feisty padawan, close to taking her trials, who has recently lost her own master. She has her own ideals as well, but doesn't have the gravitas to do anything about it. Perhaps she has some skeletons in her own closet, or her own lost love in the past. At some time in the recent past, she came across or studied in some capacity under MC, and it was a revelation to her. To know that someone was of a like mind, and a Master Jedi on the Council at that. She's a bit of a loner due to her beliefs, and when MC leaves the Order, she makes a momentous decision and quits as well, hoping that MC will take her on as a padawan...and perhaps, something more.
It's up in the air whether YC is already smitten by mine or vice versa, but it can also start out with them platonic, their common interests as grey Jedi having them joining forces. The plot lends itself to more D/s plots, but that angle isn't necessary. An event or two where their lives are on the line will cement more than just their trust in one another, however. With both of them believing positive attachment is a good thing, it won't be long before they are more than just master and student...
Seventh, my writing samples:
This is for those who are interested in my writing, just not reading an entire RP or post.
~ * * ~
And then there are those fortunate few men that come upon that rare, unique individual, that single woman, who is the essence, the definition, the embodiment of everything, everything, he could ever possibly pronounce as—beautiful. It is a moment of utter epiphany...his lips forming the word in a whisper, as if she is but a fragile dream, easily dispelled...or allowed one exclamation of it in the unknown length of his life. She has likely not noticed him yet, and she goes about in her natural state, observing that which is around her, or speaking and laughing with friends, and he sees that she is not an apparition, or dream, or vision sent by benevolent yet capricious deities.
~ * * ~
Prince Kieran rode beside his father, their royal guard of fifty chosen knights surrounding them, all in black armor with red enamelling, pennants and banners on high. He held his head proudly, choosing to ignore the occasional insults and other choice words directed at them from individuals who had the protection of anonymity. They rode through the main thoroughfare of King Alistair's capital, and would be soon at the castle of his rulership. They could not arrive there soon enough.
"Blackguard!"
"Villains!"
"Curse you all to the outer darkness!"
"Vile beasts!"
"Our fair Princess will never wed you, monster!"
The female voice that cried the last insult was shaking with horror, its pitch high and emotion-laden. Doubtless a young common-girl, one who filled her precious little spare time with dreams of living as a princess herself, and thus existing vicariously through her Princess Aaria.
His Princess Aaria. His lip curled gradually, revealing one long, white canine. He sought out and, amazingly, found the one who had shouted at him; standing atop a barrel, but barely a head above the crowd. She was hardly a woman herself, more likely an older girl, and her hair was flying free in the light breeze, but her eyes were hard and her mouth was twisted with hatred. Kieran kept his eye on her, staring mercilessly, and she quailed from his gaze within a second, shielding her mouth and eyes with her forearms, then burst into hard, wracking sobs.
He watched her for a few seconds more, but found no satisfaction from his behavior. Something inside him had sought recourse, but found none in terrorizing the inconsequential. Bringing fear to a worthy adversary--that was something special. But at the moment, he actually felt unclean. He knew many of his kind would not think twice at gutting or slaking their thirst with such a one, or perhaps other, more personal actions performed on her, but even one such as he, remorseless and conscienceless, felt no pride or power in destroying such weak and pitiable creatures.
~ * * ~
The strain and fear in her voice was expected, but not the source. She cried out not for herself, not once, but for her friends. "Please, Girl of Intrigue--lest you weary my ears with further pleading--your camp-mates are safe and untouched. I am an assassin; a murderer, after all, and not a butcher. I gain neither pleasure nor melancholy from killing my target, but find the slaughter of innocents distinctly distasteful." Something about the way she put her friends ahead of her left a bitter taste in his mouth; he wondered what it would be like to know someone whom he respected so much as to place their life ahead of his own. The distinct realization that no such person dwelt within the expanse of his sphere of influence left a peculiar hollow feeling in his gut, a feeling he'd never before experienced, and it set him off of his mood.
"So there. Your toadies are safe, for what it is worth. You, I couldn't say the same of. It was by merest whimsy that I chose not to slay you in your sleep and bring you here, Girl of Intrigue. For intriguing you are, to me. I have a keen eye, keen as my blades, but my mind is twice as sharp and thrice as quick. Let me come to the end of the thread, as we drow say, and tell you while you yet live. You are an enigma to me; an enigma that refused to allow me to kill you immediately, and that is saying much of you; much indeed, to pique my considerably jaded curiosity. You hide a secret, or secrets, I'll warrant, or I am no fair judge of character." He eyed her as he spun a distinctly-shaped dagger in his left hand by the tip with a quite succint and appreciably deadly grace; he made it clear as to his agility and handling of weapons that there would be no escape from this place except through death. Yet still, he found her voice and manner fair and pleasing, and that in itself was another mark in her favor, driving him further from his mission and towards the secrets she held. But he knew his time with her must be shorter rather than longer, and knew he must go on.
"Now," he finally continued, his tone masking none of his haughtiness or self-evident self-confidence, "as you can both see and hear, it would appeal to me greatly if you told me two things--at the least." Here he flipped the spider dagger around in a twinkling and pointed it directly at her heart, though balancing it in his fingers so it swayed slightly, up and down, like a pendulum, ticking away the seconds of her young life.
"One: why do you wear such an ensorcelled ring and what does it hide? While I have no idea what your true form is, I can hardly fault you for your most excellent choice of appearance." He winked at her in a most un-assassin-like way, his face momentarily taking on a very boyish smile.
"Two: what power do you possess? Is it related to your true form? Is it learned, like arcane magic, or is it integral to you, as a were-beast or doppelganger would be?" He tilted his head forward ever so slightly, a move not intended and not noted by the deadly, dashing drow, though he was consciously attempting to keep his keen interest in her under wraps.
~ * * ~
Reaching one hand forth, he pressed two fingers softly under her chin; his thumb rested similarly against her jawline. He could feel the trembling of her muscles in genuine fear, and in some odd way it both exhilarated and shamed him. Then, gently but unmistakeably powerfully, he slowly raised her head until they were in eye contact again. Now her scent was strong before him, but her face was a sweet, limpid subterranean pool--calm and inexplicably beautiful, but beneath the surface all sorts of rare things lurked; some dark, some light, and some natural and unknowing. He leaned closer, riding the wave of sudden exhilaration, the sense of newness and discovery and bursting desire, all wound 'round with that steel-strong, filigree capture thread of arcane curiosity. When he finally spoke, it was within a bare inch of her pristine, upturned face, and in a whisper strong and proud enough to puncture the most well-forged breastplate of the famed Darstone dwarf clan.
"I am Denlil Morroq, Son of House Aehr'vidai, Initiate of the Second Circle of the Assassin's Guild of Erelhei-Cinlu, the City of a Thousand Lusts; undefeated in two-hundred death-duels; carrier of the Forbidden Blades; the tentacle-slasher and fish-man smiter. Never in a thousand years would you see the likes of me again, and never in a thousand more will there be one to dare aspire to my fame."
He gazed into her verdant eyes for several seconds more, finding himself nearly intoxicated with the presence of her, and fighting two conflicting needs--to kiss her full, delicate-looking lips with the force and desire of a man driven beyond any mere hunger for a woman; or to slip his dagger deep into her heart and be done with it, and never think of her again.
~ * * ~
Braddock raised his eyebrows as he looked around the room, sighing. “Yeah, it was a cakewalk for the most part. Our adversaries were outfitted for a party, not a border conflict. Their gear was sixty years out of date. What they lacked in equipment, they sure as shit didn't lack in courage, though. Any usual conscript army would have been done in a couple of days.”
“Well, two weeks wasn't bad, and it didn't put a dent in the overall bottom line,” Siri replied, coming closer to the solidly-built man. His hair was disheveled and shoulder-length; he had just enough natural curl to it to keep him from ever trying to manage it. Siri ran her hands through it, luxuriating in its coarseness.
“Mmm...now everything else can just transfer over from your PDS, and...” she slipped a hand slowly down his chest, to his belt. “...I can take it from here.”
Braddock smirked; he'd have raised one eyebrow if his eyebrows could move separately. “Is that a fact? The only one taking anything will be me...”
With that he scooped Siri up while she gave a surprised but pleased yelp; his hands were already slipping up her thighs, pushing up her skirt to reveal her naked body underneath. He pressed her against the nearest wall as she locked her ankles behind his back. “You always go commando, babe?”
“Only when my favorite commando is in town,” she purred, squeezing his knotted shoulders and undulating her hips against him.
“I thought I was a mercenary,” he quipped, releasing his belt and letting his pants slide down his legs, his thick cock already prepped for action.
“You're whatever you want to be, Braddock,” Siri moaned as he entered her roughly, taking no time to set up a fast, pounding rhythm.
Siri's jobs are shit pay, he mused as her moans became squeals of delight, but the benefits ain't too bad...
~ * * ~
Colonel Rufus Xavier Dangermills IV, Ret., awoke at dawn--a military habit he refused to relinquish--performed his morning exercises, then sat at his design desk, enjoying a cup of his favorite darjeeling, when Matilda burst into the room.
"Master! There's someone asleep in the stables! Caranthus found her! And I believe...she is...an elf..." she finally breathed with more than a little touch of scandal.
"For pity's sake, did you bring her in?" Mahrets intoned, apparently in the dry-resigned-exasperation mode for the morning. He was Colonel Dangermills' butler, and head of the household servants--and as a native Egyptian who'd attended finishing school in London, did his best to maintain his composure with the more dramatic of the other employees.
"I...he...Caranthus was unsure of whether to...touch...her...as was I..." Matilda spoke, eying the Master uncertainly.
Rufus, for his own part, stood rather more quickly than normal, eyebrow quirked at the mention of those most rare of individuals. "Consider that, Matilda, next time one of the other servants finds you drunk off of Lefebre's egg nog and freezing to death in the spare hothouse." He moved without delay out of the room, the other two following close behind.
"Can't you perform a simple humanitarian task, you silly twit?" Mahrets whispered, poking Matty in the shoulder, provoking a tiny squeak.
"I can't sure as much catch the...the affliction!" the woman moaned, amazed.
"Oh, for God's sakes..." Mahrets intoned, rolling his eyes.
"Your idea of elven 'affliction' has about as much veracity as your virginity," Master Rufus remarked dryly, opening a side door to the grounds, and pacing through the snow on his long-booted legs. Reaching the stables, he found Caranthus, the groom, just finishing placing a second saddle blanket on top of a huddled figure. The Master sighed.
"You, too, Caranthus? At least the virtue of compassion is not entirely dead where you are concerned," he said, his voice filled with disappointment.
"I am sorry, mi'lord," the stocky American replied. "Seeing as how Matilda seems more knowledgeable about the...beings..."
Rufus snorted. "Just because you're the newest here doesn't make Matilda an expert on anything." He knelt down, removing the blankets from the figures head, and then nearly started as if struck.
"See! See! The Master's been taken by the disease already!" Matilda wailed.
"Oh, do shut up," Mahrets droned, gritting his teeth.
Rufus, for his part, to be honest, was afflicted...but not in the way his servant was imagining. The sight of the elf--barely a woman at that, from all appearances--was a shock, but not from disease...it was her comeliness. From the brightness of her red hair to the curve of her cheeks to the fullness of her lips, the unconscious female was without a doubt the most provocatively divine beauty he'd ever laid eye on in his thirty-three years of world travel. She was also the first elven female he'd ever seen, for all of his belief in the fair treatment of her species.
~ * * ~
At the very least, he despised the soft, preening mendicants who served at the court, filling the royal couple's ears with whatever they wished to hear. It was one of the reasons why he expected the king had requested his presence at court--the king and queen had always valued him as a blunt, honest voice among whining, sickly-sweet sycophants. Most of the military leadership tended to be so; Death had Her way of making you see reality with a much sharper focus, as those who lived in deception with themselves seldom lived long in warfare.
~ * * ~
Garret had to grin when she told him she was a mechanic--good. God, how he hated it when jobs were divided by old-fashioned sexual politics. He was old-fashioned about how his women dressed, not acted. And seriously, were the 80s that old? He was only 45, and for a shapeshifter that was practically just into your twenties. Besides, if a woman wanted to dress in pinup style, as a flapper, a raver, or some medieval princess with pointy hat, he didn't give a shit as long as she rocked it her own way. And this woman was a style all her own. The braids, especially the beaded ones, just did her right. For a moment he had an image of Captain Jack Sparrow, who was cool as movie pirates went--he personally preferred Barbossa--but the Bangles' missing member here was in a league all her own. Mph, he couldn't get enough of that scent.
What kind of a were was she? The way she moved was sinuous enough, but when she moved into his personal space like that, he eliminated whole families of animals--no were-bird would likely approach so closely; no were-lapine would want to. And while the weasel-types could be family- and group-oriented, they didn't start out like that on first meeting you, usually.
And then his brain really registered her moving into his personal bubble. It wasn't like someone her size was gonna rile him up and make him feel threatened. Hah. It wasn't like anyone shorter than him was gonna make him feel threatened--or taller, for that matter, as well, unless he scented threat on them. And she wasn't giving off any kind of threatening scent or vibe...but what the hell was she thinking? She had to know he was a shapeshifter by now, too...maybe she was a cat like him. Were-cats were so much like regular cats--in other words, they did what the fuck they wanted and to hell with anyone's opinion. If that was the case, the attraction he felt was explained that much easier. But hell, what were the chances that a woman as full-on gorgeous as her was unhitched in a place like this, especially with other weres and vampies around? Too many alpha-types among his crowd and the blood-suckers. Not that he'd back down from them, but...it wasn't his style to swipe a female from out of another guy's arms. It never occurred to him that he might not be able to do it...just that she might not not be attracted to him regardless. Alpha, yes...asshole, no.
His lips formed a little grin, and those dimples of his popped into view, even through the stubble. It was an amused look, the kind a big cat-were like him made when he could have said Hey there...yeah, I noticed you crowding me. Lucky for you I'm not the insecure type...it was also mixed with What's a fine little thing like you doing in a place like this?, along with I'd love to see you use your tools on my equipment sometime...
~ * * ~
But everything changed when he lifted her bodily under her arms and pressed her towards his desk. She felt her entire sculpted body tremble violently--because she knew what was now coming. She didn't resist him--she didn't want to, no matter how terrified she was of what was coming, but she had to let him know.
"I'm a virgin, Mr. Mercer..." she managed to gasp out in a breathy, quavery voice devoid of her normal confidence, and filled with every possible aspect of a deeply frightened young woman who knew her time had come for that fantasy she'd had countless times, the one she'd played out with what seemed like every possible man she'd ever imagined or seen.
Her teacher was going to fuck her, bent over his desk, and she was helpless to do anything at all about it. And in that helplessness, that abandon, that loss of control, she felt her need and her hunger for his impaling masculinity explode.
She felt him lifting her skirt, and she couldn't help but give him a low, hungry moan that was also laced with fear and apprehension. How was he going to fit inside her? How would it feel when he...
And then he did; he slid that huge fucking thing between her slick, naked pussy lips and pressed it home, harder and harder, with no consideration whatsoever for her utter lack of experience and virginity. She screamed as he tore through her hymen violently, the tears and sobbing coming immediately after. And yet, at the same time she was reaching a new pinnacle of terror and agony, she knew somewhere in her lust-inebriated mind that he was being so rough because he was so turned on by her. She'd never seen a man react with so much as a once-over her body, or an erotic leer...now a well-hung, magnificently-sexy man was beside himself with hunger for her. The swirling combination of pain and pleasure was an entirely novel experience, searing itself into her mind and emotions for all time.
~ * * ~
He smoothed some of her straw-colored hair back behind an ear; caressed her forehead softly; his own eyes were rather open, but his own mind was meandering through those memories as if they'd happened only a moment ago--for him and his perfect memory, it was a moment ago for all intents and purposes. "Caroline...what a fine, desirable woman you are...from beginning to end. I'm reminded more and more just how good my judgement of persona is, every time I think back to our first meeting...and every time I look at you, I'm also reminded of how lucky I am that I found you first, before any other blood-thief." He kissed her again, heatedly, then moved to her ear, nibbling it seductively. "I've never wanted any other woman, Love," he whispered to her fiercely, "I've had no woman since you...haven't wanted one but you...hated myself for leaving you alone for so long...but I'll be damned if I ever let you go again."
~ * * ~
It was then that she recognized Sarah Crawford, the poor girl with the bad health condition. Even with her normally snarky and arrogant personality, Thella still had a heart, and she felt sorry for the pretty girl, who must miss out on so much, especially with that overprotective mother of hers. However, while she thought about Sarah, the girl herself came up to them and called Tychus' name--then when he turned around, she popped him in the side of the face.
Thella had never hit Tychus, no matter how angry she'd gotten--she'd mastered Tae Kwon Do under the tutelage of her Uncle Sutherland, and one of the things in the tradition and training was to never use your abilities in the wrong situation. Thella was excessively petite, it was true, but a well-placed, well-executed, pinpoint strike with her fist could do some serious damage--and she didn't want to hurt Tychus, after all. Much. At least, not that way...
But now she wasn't sure just how to react. Most of the time she would have laughed her ass off at Tychus' expense...but this time, considering their situation, she decided on a different course of action.
"Oh, really, Sarah, that was a well-placed blow--though if you were going for catharsis, I would have aimed for the eye socket--a black eye is much more satisfying to see than a bruised cheek or split lip." She grinned sweetly at the other girl--she had nothing against her, felt much more than a little sorry for her, and getting to see a come-uppance to Tychus was worth experiencing. But then she, turned Tychus towards her, and ran a slender finger around the now-swelling spot on his cheek. "Oh, dear...you have a boo-boo...perhaps I'd best kiss it better?" She arched a single eyebrow, giving her enigmatic smile, her own cheeks curving into pleasant little spheres; then she pursed her full lips and gently, softly placed them on the damage zone, ending with a purposely-audible little lip-smack. "There, I hope that makes it all better," she replied, still grinning mischievously. "If necessary, just ask and I'll add a few more if they help."
~ * * ~
Wave them, don't brandish them...brandishing connotes threat, which connotes emotion, which connotes weakness, thought the diminutive woman in the swirling ivory cloaks, a gleaming sai in her left hand, a bloody, curved, thin-bladed sword in the other. The fact that she was blocked on three sides by brutish, lecherous, magenta-hued aveshakks, and on the fourth by the cliff wall she had been forced back into, didn't elicit the least bit of fear of death. She knew death was an inevitability someday, and fearing when was a useless gesture if ever there was one. Besides, there were worse things than death, as you had to be living to suffer them, and the aveshakks were certain to exact every last drop of suffering from her, if they managed to capture her.
Managed. The absolute arrogance of the thought curled her upper lip, revealing one white canine. She was young, she was beautiful, she was deadly, and she was alive. To be sure she was droll as well, but the only one who could appreciate that at the moment was herself.
"Fine enough for me," she murmured, then launched herself across the sand of the beach and upon them, long, dark hair flying...and then her swords were singing.
~ * * ~
"Welcome...please, take a seat." His icy-blue eyes matched the aura he exuded. He hoped she could tell, just from the way he stepped forward, that he was enjoying towering over her diminutive body. "Can I get you something to drink, Miss...?"
"Moran. No, thank you." Intense brown eyes the color of hot caramel never dropped away from his...and the rest of her youthful face was as impassive as stone.
A thick eyebrow slowly raised itself, somewhat wrinkling the high forehead. Icy blues maintained their pressure. She hadn't taken her seat yet. He was tempted to break his gaze and look down at the chair, then back to her, and see if she would respond, but since she hadn't blinked, he didn't want to let up the pressure on her. Still, he knew it was an inevitability that her feminacy would reveal itself soon enough, she would quail, and all would be well.
"Do you have a first name?" he queried, voice still sickly sweet, as if he were addressing a schoolgirl who was crying and had lost her way around the grounds on the first day of Kindergarten.
"Yes." Caramel. Hot. Unblinking.
He waited a few seconds. He then realized he had not prepared any talk after this point, expecting her to break like all other women had always done. His mind was suddenly blank, and to compensate, he smiled, though this was not the smile of arrogance or debasement now, just pleasant and accommodating.
Not caramel now...dark, fired brick...furnace-like...unaccommodating.
He actually began to feel quite warm. He didn't notice the first drop of perspiration until it had slid down, out of his well-groomed, slicked-back coiffure, and tickled his temple, causing him to twitch and turn his head, hissing out an angry, choice word, and finally wiping the offending bead of sweat away with an impatient hand.
He huffed off the sudden temper with an exhalation of air through his flared nostrils. He'd broken their gaze. He had. Still, she was unlikely to even be on the same plane of thought as he...she was a woman, after all, and hardly had the capacity for logic like him...women were emotional creatures. He raised his head again, the mask of control having returned, and he looked back into her face, the demeaning look having returned.
Those eyes...still caramel; no longer hot. A smile--that only turned up the corners of her mouth--had appeared on her face since he had flinched, and held all the heat in the room, speaking volumes of feminine emotion, but only two words in his head would fit them.
You're fucked.
~ * * ~
"How dare you. How dare you! How dare you speak against the Bronze Throne thusly, vilifying all that our great empire and tradition has wrought upon this world?" The vizier, ensconced in his orange and bright yellow robes, the staff of state held firmly and haughtily in his right hand, looked down just imperiously enough to satisfy the several court onlookers of his sincerity, particularly the Empress herself, seated upon said ancient Throne of Bronze.
The diminutive woman he looked down upon had the most incredible, interesting image of indeterminate indifference upon her youthful, wise features. "I dare, and I'll continue to dare, as long as I live and breathe--and please don't start up with a self-righteous comment or attempted witty barb on how I won't live or breathe much longer...I've heard them before and, honestly, I just don't believe them anymore."
"Why do you speak thusly to our divine majesty?" The Empress spoke, breaking the current tension and replacing it with a broader, expansive calm, though if one was sufficiently skilled in the art of human body language and tone, they would pick up the even greater tension within the Empress herself...and, surprisingly enough, the white-robed young woman who dared to defy her. "What has our eminent subliminity brought about to effect your state of grievance?" The Empress had stood from her throne, her great height easily evident in the length of her shapely legs that appeared from between her slit skirts with every measured stride across the dais.
"God, I've heard some self-absorbed rulers in my time..." Cammi spat amusedly, shaking her head but never taking her eye off of the Empress, nor the two dozen or so royal guards at her end of the Hall. "...but you, lady...you take the cake, the pan it was cooked in, and the whole god-damn bakery."
"Your mode of speech is unfamiliar to us," the Empress continued, eying her volatile, unwanted guest. "Where in our wide world did you learn a language in this fashion?"
"Good...you're starting to come around," Cammi purred in a silky, sarcastic drawl. "I'm not from your world, Lil' Missy...that explain the reason why I'm the only one in here with a little backbone?"
"Backbone...that, at the least, we do understand. But all of the courage in the world will not avail you against our power, if we cease being amused by your demented prattling," the tall woman replied through venomous, half-lidded green and violet eyes.
Cammi gazed back unflinchingly with her own blazing eyes of hazel.
"Again." The Empress took a final step, and was but a scant foot from the first step of the dais. "Why do you bear grievance against us?"
Finally, the expression on the young woman's lovely face slowly began to unravel, into the most startling mask of vicious, seething hatred. Her free left hand worked, while the hand with the sword made tiny circling motions, over and over, which at first looked as if she was merely tremulous, but to a trained warrior, became immediately apparent as the motion one made to twist a weapon when in the guts of a despised foe. Finally, words came through her curled lips and exposed teeth, each carrying the force of a stone block hurled from a parapet.
"You. Killed. My. Friends."
~ * * ~
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