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MSPC985
I can taste mythical fountains
- Joined
- Mar 8, 2020
I'm a detail-oriented writer looking for similar. I will stress the word writer. I enjoy reading what I've written, and as such am not looking for role players who care little about grammatical accuracy or fluidity of prose, but for people whose writing is downright publishable. As a famous man once said, "if your writing isn't worth reading, all the kinks in the world won't save you" – Tyrion Lannister.
A note on tense and person: I'm equally comfortable in either past or present tense. Let me know your preference when you message me. As for person, I understand that third person is the default around here, but I'm also open to writing in first person—via private messages only. When writing on the forums, where said writing is able to be read by others, it only makes sense to write in third person.
I'm open to the ideas of others, so if you fail to find something below that tickles your fancy, please feel free to contact me with an idea or two of your own. Note that I am primarily interested in real world scenarios, but that I may be interested in writing otherwise if your premise is interesting to me. I'm also open to writing with people of any gender, though I do have a preference for female writers.
I'm far more interested in good writing than in kinks—if we don't enjoy one another's writing, then it doesn't matter whether our kinks align or not. I will say, however, that I'm fairly open when it comes to kinks, and that the only things I'm really not into are feet, bestiality, and non-sexual bodily fluids. I might have added incest to this list, but I've actually come up with an incestuous plot that I like. This is rare, but I suppose it goes to show that I'm open-minded! As such, I'm also open to any and all gender pairings. I'm happiest when writing straight pairings, but am open to writing otherwise, be that a gay pairing or a gender-bent pairing.
Below, you'll find my open plots and a collection of picture prompts. Send me a private message if you're interested in one of them, or if you simply think we'd make good writing partners. Note that I expect any prospective partners to be capable of writing a minimum of two sizeable paragraphs at a time. I will add to the following over time.
A note on tense and person: I'm equally comfortable in either past or present tense. Let me know your preference when you message me. As for person, I understand that third person is the default around here, but I'm also open to writing in first person—via private messages only. When writing on the forums, where said writing is able to be read by others, it only makes sense to write in third person.
I'm open to the ideas of others, so if you fail to find something below that tickles your fancy, please feel free to contact me with an idea or two of your own. Note that I am primarily interested in real world scenarios, but that I may be interested in writing otherwise if your premise is interesting to me. I'm also open to writing with people of any gender, though I do have a preference for female writers.
I'm far more interested in good writing than in kinks—if we don't enjoy one another's writing, then it doesn't matter whether our kinks align or not. I will say, however, that I'm fairly open when it comes to kinks, and that the only things I'm really not into are feet, bestiality, and non-sexual bodily fluids. I might have added incest to this list, but I've actually come up with an incestuous plot that I like. This is rare, but I suppose it goes to show that I'm open-minded! As such, I'm also open to any and all gender pairings. I'm happiest when writing straight pairings, but am open to writing otherwise, be that a gay pairing or a gender-bent pairing.
Below, you'll find my open plots and a collection of picture prompts. Send me a private message if you're interested in one of them, or if you simply think we'd make good writing partners. Note that I expect any prospective partners to be capable of writing a minimum of two sizeable paragraphs at a time. I will add to the following over time.
~ Open Plots ~
Double Date Rescue (Focus: MFM; modern; slice-of-life)
At the heart of Dublin's Temple Bar area, hidden behind a plain black exterior, lies a speakeasy-themed cocktail bar named the Vintage Cocktail Club. On stepping through its unremarkable door, one finds themselves treading carpeted floors amidst plush, padded furniture and vintage ephemera that render the suave setting a relic of decades-old refinery. It's here that we find your character, well dressed in anticipation of a date arranged over Tinder. Her phone vibrates to deliver a message that reads:
Hey I'm sorry but I can't make it tonight. Really sorry bout the late notification.
A wave of frustration and disappointment washes over her, each emotion writing its name across fine features. Visible from across the room, they draw the eye of a well-dressed man who approaches her as she stands to leave.
"Bad news?" he asks, prompting her to look up at a bright smile framed by a tidy, well-kept beard. Its wielder is dressed in a three-piece suit and tie, his freshly-cropped hair short on the sides and neatly parted. "You're welcome to join my friend and I."
He gestures towards the table at which his friend is currently seated, dressed in the same manner as he, his moustache and goatee neatly groomed. Where the first man's hair is light—darkish blond on top, Irish red in his beard—the second's is dark, but both are handsome. Your character's not going to let her night go to waste, is she? No. Certainly not when she could spend it with not one, but two handsome men.
"Bad news?" he asks, prompting her to look up at a bright smile framed by a tidy, well-kept beard. Its wielder is dressed in a three-piece suit and tie, his freshly-cropped hair short on the sides and neatly parted. "You're welcome to join my friend and I."
He gestures towards the table at which his friend is currently seated, dressed in the same manner as he, his moustache and goatee neatly groomed. Where the first man's hair is light—darkish blond on top, Irish red in his beard—the second's is dark, but both are handsome. Your character's not going to let her night go to waste, is she? No. Certainly not when she could spend it with not one, but two handsome men.
~
Warning: teenage character preferred (15+)
It's a year to the day since your character's mother perished in a freak fire that broke out in her place of work. It seemed a cruel joke to cremate her, but such was her wish, written into her will at a time when she had little idea of how little time remained for her upon this earth. Her ashes now sit in a golden urn upon the mantlepiece overlooking the fire, a fitting resting place to symbolise that her enduring memory will never fall victim to the same flames that claimed her life. Your character's life has changed irrevocably, and her father now is everything to her—a sentiment that runs both ways.
"You're the image of her, you know," he says, seated beside her on the couch as he quietly regards how much she has come to resemble her mother over the past year. "You look just like her when she was your age."
He musters a smile, affection waging a war within against the bastions of bittersweet remorse that always take up arms when his lifelong love is called to mind. More and more frequently nowadays, another conflict comes marching with those memories, for his teenage daughter really is the image of his wife, a woman who inspired in him such a zest for life and love, for sensuality and sexuality, the very things for which he is left so desperately longing. Though he balks at the thought of it, deep down he knows that only one is fit to take her place: she who is the very essence and image of his high school sweetheart.
It's a year to the day since your character's mother perished in a freak fire that broke out in her place of work. It seemed a cruel joke to cremate her, but such was her wish, written into her will at a time when she had little idea of how little time remained for her upon this earth. Her ashes now sit in a golden urn upon the mantlepiece overlooking the fire, a fitting resting place to symbolise that her enduring memory will never fall victim to the same flames that claimed her life. Your character's life has changed irrevocably, and her father now is everything to her—a sentiment that runs both ways.
"You're the image of her, you know," he says, seated beside her on the couch as he quietly regards how much she has come to resemble her mother over the past year. "You look just like her when she was your age."
He musters a smile, affection waging a war within against the bastions of bittersweet remorse that always take up arms when his lifelong love is called to mind. More and more frequently nowadays, another conflict comes marching with those memories, for his teenage daughter really is the image of his wife, a woman who inspired in him such a zest for life and love, for sensuality and sexuality, the very things for which he is left so desperately longing. Though he balks at the thought of it, deep down he knows that only one is fit to take her place: she who is the very essence and image of his high school sweetheart.
~
The Getaway (Focus: MFM; modern; slice-of-life)
The panic of pandemic has come and gone, and all around the world travel-hungry wanderers are taking to the skies and roads for long-awaited getaways, eager to escape the towns and cities in which they've been for so long incarcerated. Amongst these travellers is your character's cousin, who invites her to spend a week in the relaxing surroundings of some far-off countryside, replete with the scents and sounds of nature. The destination? A lakeside cabin miles from civilisation, where one may cast their worries into the nether, and live for a time as though in a blissful bubble.
Accompanying her are her boyfriend and two friends of hers, artistic types who together form a rock duo that releases music online. Their musical tastes differ from those of your character's cousin, however, so when she and her boyfriend travel to the nearest city to see her one of her favourite acts, they remain behind. For a single night the quintet are divided: two lay their heads down on stiff hotel pillows, and three are drawn into a night whose passions will soon rival the vibrancy of the vermillion reds that the setting sun disperses across the distant horizon.
Accompanying her are her boyfriend and two friends of hers, artistic types who together form a rock duo that releases music online. Their musical tastes differ from those of your character's cousin, however, so when she and her boyfriend travel to the nearest city to see her one of her favourite acts, they remain behind. For a single night the quintet are divided: two lay their heads down on stiff hotel pillows, and three are drawn into a night whose passions will soon rival the vibrancy of the vermillion reds that the setting sun disperses across the distant horizon.
~
Through the Camera Eye (Focus: sexual liberty; modern; slice-of-life)
There's always that one person. Sometimes it's someone you know, and their hold over you can be partly explained away as strength of character, or perhaps as that ineffable something possessed by certain individuals. Sometimes it's no-one you know, leaving us at an even greater loss to explain just why we'd do nothing short of anything to get a taste of them, to feel their skin on ours and know the ecstasy of release with them and them alone. For your character, that person has just walked into their makeshift studio, and she's determined not to let them walk out before she's had her fill.
The question whose answer is now on both of our minds is, of course, who is this irresistible man, and what makes him so irresistible? Is he a stranger picked up in a local park or on the local college campus, invited into her home under the guise of making up for any discomfort caused by the straying of her camera lens whilst out snapping pictures? Is he a friend of a trusting partner or the partner of a trusting friend, and thus wrapped in threads of social taboos that denote him as off-limits? The choice, as they say, is yours.
The question whose answer is now on both of our minds is, of course, who is this irresistible man, and what makes him so irresistible? Is he a stranger picked up in a local park or on the local college campus, invited into her home under the guise of making up for any discomfort caused by the straying of her camera lens whilst out snapping pictures? Is he a friend of a trusting partner or the partner of a trusting friend, and thus wrapped in threads of social taboos that denote him as off-limits? The choice, as they say, is yours.
~
Disclaimer: the following is not meant to imply that transgender people are inherently weak in some way, but is merely based on the ignorant observation that some, if not many, transgender people seem to struggle with body image. Hell, the same is true of cisgender people, and we don't have to put up with half the crap that transgender people do. If writing about overcoming said struggles can help anyone to do so in real life, I'll be all the happier for having made a minor contribution.
Someone once said that mirrors tell lies. Now, in spite of all the truth they tell, that lie is what sticks in your character's mind. Though she knows it in her heart of hearts, she has yet to fully realise, in the truest sense of the word, that gender lies not in the body but in the mind. Sometimes, genitals tell lies.
It's not until a new man enters her life that she truly begins to realise this truth. He's attracted to who she is, not what she is, and the same paradigm rules the roost of his desire to please her, and of his desire to find pleasure in her. Come the annual Pride parade, she recognises that, for as long as she's celebrated Pride, she's yet to really celebrate her own body, or to find pride in it. Can she glimpse her own beauty by looking through the eyes of another, and step through the door that his presence has opened for her? You bet she can. This wouldn't be much of a story if she couldn't.
Someone once said that mirrors tell lies. Now, in spite of all the truth they tell, that lie is what sticks in your character's mind. Though she knows it in her heart of hearts, she has yet to fully realise, in the truest sense of the word, that gender lies not in the body but in the mind. Sometimes, genitals tell lies.
It's not until a new man enters her life that she truly begins to realise this truth. He's attracted to who she is, not what she is, and the same paradigm rules the roost of his desire to please her, and of his desire to find pleasure in her. Come the annual Pride parade, she recognises that, for as long as she's celebrated Pride, she's yet to really celebrate her own body, or to find pride in it. Can she glimpse her own beauty by looking through the eyes of another, and step through the door that his presence has opened for her? You bet she can. This wouldn't be much of a story if she couldn't.
~ Picture Prompts ~
Consider the following open season for your imagination.
#1.
#2.
#3.
Consider the following open season for your imagination.
#1.
#1. Who's she trying to kill (or who's trying to kill her)? Why won't they pull the trigger?
#2. No ideas for this one; I just like the
#3. Screams to me of secret or forbidden lust or love.
~ Closed Plots ~
Warning:[/S] likely dub-con/non-con content.
The statue came to the local museum of modern art six months ago. It's been just a month since your character saw it for the first time and, since then, she's visited it every week. Masterfully crafted from pristine marble, its lure is as deep and mysterious as the character it seeks to portray: Lucifer, Bringer of Light, chained at the ankle and unequivocally vulnerable, pained but not vacant. His face is a picture of torment, deep in retrospection and downcast in defeat. His wings are curled around him as though in self-protection, his lean, chiselled body turned in on itself. On each visit she ponders how he must feel, the proud and valiant Lucifer brought to bear debasing bondage. Then the dreams begin.
At first, he comes to her as an angel, his wings not leathery and bat-like as in the marble stature, but full and richly feathered. He makes love to her, is tender and passionate, sweetly pleading for release. Again and again he comes to her in her sleep, each time more ardent than the last.
"Free me," he intones, "only you can free me."
But how does one free a dream, or a statute? Again and again he comes, his patience slowly waning with each visit, and as it falls away so too do his feathers, his cherubic countenance, and eventually his smile. Scornful he becomes, and rough, demanding emancipation from his marble retribution—and then she swears she sees him in the real world.
At first, he comes to her as an angel, his wings not leathery and bat-like as in the marble stature, but full and richly feathered. He makes love to her, is tender and passionate, sweetly pleading for release. Again and again he comes to her in her sleep, each time more ardent than the last.
"Free me," he intones, "only you can free me."
But how does one free a dream, or a statute? Again and again he comes, his patience slowly waning with each visit, and as it falls away so too do his feathers, his cherubic countenance, and eventually his smile. Scornful he becomes, and rough, demanding emancipation from his marble retribution—and then she swears she sees him in the real world.
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