ORIGINAL CRAVINGS: Monsters (specifically werewolves/vampires/demons), Arranged Marriage, Civilian x Vigilante, Assassin x Princess
FANDOM CRAVINGS: Pokemon (Rika x My!F!OC), Overwatch, Apex Legends, Baldur's Gate 3
See pairings list for more details on some of these.
Spa
Spa⏺ ⏺ ⏺ My Style
Hello! My name is Dream and I use she/her pronouns. I am in the EST timezone and am frequently active in the evenings/nights due to working a full time job. My goal is to post at least one post per week in role-plays, but this can vary slightly depending on health (I have chronic migraines) and just how many scenes I'm currently doing. I am 100% ghosting friendly, and am up for resuming scenes as long as you message OOC and ask. I have a scene with a friend where they didn’t respond for three years. Life happens, I get it.
I've been role-playing for approximately fourteen years and would consider myself a lazy literate-to-advanced writer. My intros tend to be on the longer side, sometimes spanning to ten paragraphs, but my average post length is approximately two to four. I write modern and historic fantasy and fandoms, but also have an interest in other genres like sci-fi and steampunk. I am not interested in modern, real life, non-magical settings or plots such as boss x secretary, babysitter x dad, etc. I play characters of all walks of life, but I especially like exploring power dynamics and powerful women, political intrigue, and general plotting and scheming. I tend to use art or models/actors for face claims (or, as I call them, rough face claims, since I rarely 100% base my character's appearance off of a given source image) and will sometimes take suggestions as far as preferences for physical appearances look, however I don't often accept people asking me to use a certain face claim or picture for a reference. While I acknowledge some out of character planning is necessary, I tend to not enjoy large amounts of it, and prefer to keep it short and sweet and focused on larger plot events we want to happen or important details; if the entire role-play is planned out, I tend to lose interest quickly.
Kinkwise, I lean on the submissive side and play characters who do the same. I don't tend to play passive submissives, and don't like playing against "doms" who demand respect/submission just because they're a dom. I will play more dom women on occasion, but I am not the best at it and will require some slack/feedback since it is a skill I’m acquiring. You can see my f-list for more detailed information, and please feel free to ask questions about anything that may not be listed.
Spa○ ○ ○ What I Seek
I typically look for and enjoy partners who are casual and chill; due to some chronic medical problems, I can sometimes be MIA for a couple days with deliberating headaches, so I appreciate partners with flexibility. While I do write to write and get better, this is a hobby first and foremost, so while I take pride in my work and like partners who do as well, but I tend to not mesh well with partners who take themselves and the hobby way too seriously. In other words, if you're the type to get offended if I don't 100% stick to a once a week posting schedule or want to role-play like we’re producing high art and not somewhat trashy stories/smut, we might not be a good match.
Otherwise I'm looking for someone fun, creative, and who is a good improviser and is willing to add your own ideas to a scene or plot! I appreciate people who willing to express and opinion/preference when they have one instead of always deferring to my preferences. I like people who put effort into their approaches and suggest ideas; even in spaces where one of us is DMing for the other, I want us to both create something. While I understand some parts of the role-play are sexual fantasy, I really enjoy/prefer writers who don't make it obvious or expect me to cater to all of their kinks while getting nothing in return. One of my biggest pet peeves, for example, is having someone request I use a specific play-by and then let me have zero input in their own character's appearance. I am fairly liberal with my block button for outward creeps; I have enough bad experiences in real life for my to tolerate things in what’s supposed to be thing I have fun with.
Spacer▶▷ Craving anything Bolded. This is not a complete list, so feel free to suggest things!
Spacer▶▷ Modern Fantasy Pairings
Werewolf x Human
Hunter x creature
Demon x Witch
Werewolf x Witch
Mortal x Witch
Vampire x Witch
Demon x Demon
Demon x Werewolf
Demon x Mortal
Demon x Vampire
Ghost x Demon
Ghost x Mortal
Ghost x Vampire
Vampire x Werewolf
Vampire x Mortal
Vampire x Vampire
Demi Goddess x Mortal
Demi God x Mortal
Vigilante x Civilian
Spacer▶▷ Medieval/Historic Fantasy Pairings
Werewolf x Human
Hunter x creature
Dragon/half dragon x princess
Thief x Guard
Demon x Witch
Werewolf x Witch
Mortal x Witch
Vampire x Witch
Demon x Demon
Demon x Werewolf
Demon x Mortal
Demon x Vampire
Vampire x Werewolf
Vampire x Mortal
Vampire x Vampire
Arranged Marriage
Vampire x Princess
Prince x Commoner
Princess x Commoner/Peasant
Assassin x Princess
Elf x Human
Elf x Vampire
Elf x Dragon
Demi Goddess x Mortal
Demi God x Mortal
Mermaid x Sailor
Spacer▶▷ Fandoms & Pairings
ASOIAF/GOT/HOTD
I Play: Sansa, Margaery, Daenerys, Rhaenyra, OCs
Pairings: Jon x Daenerys, Margaery x Robb Stark, Rhaenyra x Daemon
Overwatch
I Play: Mercy, Widowmaker, Ashe, Sombra
Pairings: Mercy x Cassidy, Mercy x Reaper, Mercy x Genji, Ashe x Cassidy, Ashe x Genji, Sombra x Cassidy, Widowmaker x Sombra, Widowmaker x Reaper, Widowmaker x Maximilien, Widowmaker x Mercy, Widowmaker x Ashe
Apex Legends
I Play: Loba, Rhapsody, Wraith, Maggie
Pairings: Loba x Crypto, Loba x Mirage, Wraith x Mirage, Wraith x Wattson
Dragon Riders of Pern
OCs Only, using universe lore
Skyrim
Prefers OC or OC x Canon. I enjoy to expand on lore.
Pokemon
Prefers OCs, using universe lore
Dragon Age
I Play: Player Characters, Morrigan, Bethany, Isabela, Josephine, OCs
Pairings: Warden x Morrigan, Warden x Zevran, Hawke x Isabela, Hawke x Bethany, Hawke x Fenris, Hawke x Sebastian, Inquisitor x Solas, Inquisitor x Josephine
Marvel (Note: Not familiar with media after Endgame, except for WandaVision, Falcon and the Winter Soldier, and Loki)
I Play: Wanda, Valkyrie, Natasha, Sif, Gwen Stacy
Pairings: Misc.
Dungeons and Dragons
Prefers OCs, using universe lore
Baldur’s Gate 3
I Play: OCs, Tav/Durge, Shadowheart
Pairings: Tav/Durge x Astarion
Others, feel free to ask!
Spacer▶▷ Want to Try
-Sci-Fi: Not sure where to start, honestly, but I really like media like Firefly!
Spacer▶▷ Plot A[Setting ; Pairing ; Theme A, Theme B]
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Spacer▶▷ Plot B[Setting ; Pairing ; Theme A, Theme B]
"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum."
Spacer▶▷ Plot C[Setting ; Pairing ; Theme A, Theme B]
"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum."
Sample Notes
- Most samples are from fandoms or AUs of fandoms, since that's been most of my recent writing.
- Most of these have been written in the past two or three years and are fairly recent piece of writing. They’re all from introduction posts or drabbles.
- I don't require to see any samples of your writing, so I mostly share for your benefit!
Writing Sample A
She was a work of art. Countless hours had been spent on her and, in the end, it was nothing short of perfection. Her blue skin had been made white and while she could see the imperfections, the tells that it was fake, she knew not many would be looking too closely at her to tell. Her face was another story: they'd contoured her face enough to give her a subtly different facial structure and while they hadn't given her contacts at her insistence, they had done... something to make them look alive, innocent, rather than the dead look she usually carried. The gown fit like a glove, and it had to, and the mask was secure. All her face was the mask, to be fair, because she had to be the one of them to be unrecognizable. Maximilien was somewhat recognizable but, luckily, private; no one would know he wasn't madly in love with his new girlfriend that he was debuting for the first time at this masquerade. No one could recognize Amélie Lacroix.
It felt strange to think of herself with that name. It had been years since she had but slowly, lingeringly, it had stopped bothering her. She tried not to show it, fearful that they would condition her again. not wanting that; she missed the color, the life to life, even if she could only barely grasp onto the coattails of it.
This was one of those things. A return to a life she had thought she had exited fully. She was glad Maximilien was focused as he walked her along, for if she had been alone, she would have long stopped and observed and slowly integrated herself back in. She would have breathed in the perfume and wondered just why her life could not have been the same: why Gerard had been with Overwatch, why she had been kidnapped and tortured for it, and why she had been made to murder him in his sleep. Why could she not have stayed a ballerina, the bride to a man older, young and in love and passionate and good.
They did not stop. She did not linger. Tobias Barrow needed to be found. The last of her thoughts were banished, though, when Maximilien had lifted her hand to his metal lips, had bid her goodbye with an endearment that, despite knowing their charade, still caught her off guard. Maybe it was the French, smooth from his lips, that startled her. She had spoken French since her conditioning, of course, but rarely: in her moments of kills, of strong emotion, or small conversations with new recruits during recon missions. It had been some time since she wished to speak it, for herself. It could just be the endearment. She was a killer, cold, emotionless. There was no place for softness, for affection, in her life.
Then again, Maximilien was an enigma to her. Everyone was more alive than her, yes, but it felt especially strange for an Omnic to be. But his smooth, charismatic manner was a curiosity. She never believed he was always telling the truth, but he told a good story, but there had been very few she had met since her conditioning that she had... had a curiosity of, she supposed.
Her feelings of Gerard were behind a curtain, a veil she could not pierce, but she tried to channel it. She tried to soften her expression, to put some life and fondness into her eyes, to smile softly at his little affection there. She tried to be the in-love wife she had been and, even if she didn't think she sold it, she thought it would be a good enough job for the casual onlooker. She did linger as he walked off, looking after him, before she finally went to search on her own.
Barrows would be dead. But not here. Talon did not want to alienate this crowd, not yet, not with this much money in the room. She made some polite conversation, trying to appear the young, naïve wife: easy prey. Barrows dealt in a specific type of investment, usually, and he would hear the talk of a pretty young woman looking for that exact thing. Chum in the water, except a larger fish was waiting to eat those attracted.
Finally, after some time (most of it spent holding a glass of champagne someone had insisted on procuring for her), she saw him. He was seated at a table near the edges of the ballroom, discussing something or other with other individuals. She watched a moment, for the first time dropping her charade. For a moment she was still, almost unnaturally so, eyes shining and too intense as she watched him move his arms about. She lifted a hand, pretending to fix some of her hair, activating her earpiece that connected her to her partner, voice at her normal level of chilly. She did not trust anyone enough to let any indication of her emotions slip.
"Target located," she said. "Back right of the room, with others." He should be able to find her, would know that she was not able to move in quite yet. As soon as her hand dropped down she slipped back into her act, finding a conversation partner to chatter with while she waited. But her eyes never truly left Barrow.
Writing Sample B
She forgot how it felt before a heist. The silence of it, the stillness, the feeling of not a soul being around as the world held its breath to avoid the storm. It was almost nostalgic, as most things during this trip had been. Seeing the mountains and the gullies, the old towns that had been her playground. The diner was empty, but it was still full of memories: of terrible food and coffee, of food fights with the gang. She was seated in their usual booth, a half full coffee mug in front of her and a plate holding what had once been an apple pie on it that she'd decimated and scattered about the plate half-heartedly. Their shit was still awful but she was here more to wait than she was to actually eat.
The old record machine was playing some song, though she'd put the volume to low. Her real interest was the window to her right and the train tracks. The window was popped open just a little, but all she could hear was the wind through the gorge, high and whistling, and the slow, steady ticking of the clock. It was several minutes later, when she'd just picked up her fork to further smear the pie across the plate, when the sound of the train reached her. It got closer and louder and she looked up to watch, red eyes tracking the progress of the train until there was a boom and the whole thing came crashing down. She didn't react as several cars landed next to the diner before rolling off the edge, just thinking how much of a waste it was. But, then again, her old gang would probably be up for the challenge of seeing if it was still salvageable.
Ashe finally stood, dropping an overly generous amount of money on the table (not that there was an employee in the building or likely to be one soon, with the destruction right outside) and picking up Viper from where she'd leaned it against the wall. She put her hat on, squaring up before pushing the doors open and entering the dust. It burned her eyes but she knew where she was going; it felt almost muscle memory, really, and all she had to do was avoid the large train cars that jutted from the debris. Her steps were slow, measured, and attracted attention; it wasn't long before she came upon someone and that someone forced themselves to a run almost before they were fully back to their feet, screaming "Cassidy!" at the top of their lungs.
She looked out of the window, breathing heavily, watching their enemy get closer. These ones weren't local law enforcement; they carried too much firepower, had too much training, were ruthless and efficient. And they were getting closer. She pushed herself from the window, sliding along the floor to get to Cassidy as he reloaded his revolver and readjusted the bandana that was covering a bullet hole in his arm. She grabbed hold of his other one, eyes wide. "Go."
"Wha-" he'd said, but if that had been the start of a sentence, she wouldn't know. She pushed him enough to topple him slightly.
"Go!" she said, and this time it was a whisper-yell. "Take B.O.B., take the goods, and get out. I'll keep 'em busy."
"But, Liz-"
"I'll be fine," she said, glancing over to Viper as if it would make this any easier for her, but she already felt the tears welling in her eyes because she was pretty sure she wouldn't be fine. But she'd worked too hard for this family to give it up, to let it be broken by this, and she was the leader. That meant she had to make the decisions like this. "Quick, go!"
And she watched Cassidy scramble to crouch-walk out of the building, going out the back door. B.O.B. had been back there watching the truck. They'd be fine. She took a deep breath before going and retrieving Viper, taking a silent, long moment to steel herself as she reloaded. Another deep breath, this one shuddering, and she returned to her window, opening it just a little before lining up her shot.
She'd give them hell for as long as she could.
She pushed the memory down. This was not the time to remember or regret. Her presence was known but she continued her pace. She tried to appear as noncombatant as possible, Viper held loosely in one hand and pointed at the ground. Still, she knew she'd be recognizable enough; she still liked her long coats, though this one lacked the Rebels logo, and she still liked her overly bright red lipstick and her semi-armor. Overwatch may have taken the gangster from the gang, but it couldn't remove all the traces, she supposed.
There was a moment of silence as the yelling was caught. Then she emerged from the dust, seeing about what she thought she'd see. There was B.O.B., the same but different, and some other men loading up crates. The man of the hour was standing on the cart and she felt her lips twist into a small, fond, sad smile. "Cole Cassidy," she said, and the words sounded like a life she'd never have. "Been a while."
Writing Sample C (NSFW)
The hotel room was small and dim, lit with just a small lamp in the corner she kept on more for the illusion of security than anything else and the outdoor street lights shining through the cracked and bent blinds. Sleep was not coming easy to her, and she wasn’t sure why. It could have been the air conditioner’s loud hum as it tried to pump out cool air. Or it could have been the sheets, too thin and scratchy and altogether uncomfortable against her skin. Or, and she was almost willing to guess it was this one, it was her rampant thoughts that wouldn’t stop swirling around her head. Such thoughts were not unusual, but few gripped her the way this one did, and that in and of itself was troublesome.
Genji Shimada. In this universe… timeline… whatever he was half a world away, tucked safely with Overwatch. She had no idea where he was in her own or if he’d turned out the way this one had; part of her wanted to say yes, since there were so many echoes, but part of her remembered red-eyed murderous anger and couldn’t associate that with the mild-mannered man she’d talked to over comms, as strange as it was and no matter how much he’d hinted that his past, and her Genji, were not too far disconnected.
And it was so silly. She’d rejected every effort of his to get her to come to this world’s Overwatch. She knew better, but she also knew herself enough to know what this was. She knew herself enough to hope that he’d asked her there because he’d enjoyed talking to her and wanted her there. That he was feeling the same budding infatuation that she was. It was so hard to imagine him being the same as the one she’d been in Blackwatch with, but it was so easy to take that young face and age it a little, to imagine him closer to how he’d be now.
She huffed and rolled over, feeling the sheets tangle around her and between her legs. She didn’t care enough to fix it, screwing her eyes closed and trying to sleep. But it wasn’t long before her thoughts went back. He would look mostly the same, wouldn’t he? After all, it wasn’t like he could change much with that body of his. Still, he had one flesh arm… one flesh arm that she remembered being more muscular than she’d ever seen an arm before. One flesh arm she’d seen in use-
She made a noise, something between a disgusted groan and an incredulous laugh, as she rolled over again. This was happening. This was actually happening. She was crossing so many lines and she didn’t even know where any of them were actually drawn. Where did the line go from her lusting after an old coworker to a new acquaintance? Where was the line on how far she should fantasize about him? God, sometimes she missed when she was a teenager and could just rush into things headlong, bold and reckless. Now her mind actually had to think.
Granted, she didn’t spend long doing it. Maybe she was still bold and reckless, or maybe there was just some sort of desperation, but soon she found herself laying on her back, hand slipping into the waistband of the sleep shorts she wore. Part of her, a big part of her, hoped she was wrong and that this wasn’t what she thought it was, but as her fingers pushed between her lips and encountered more than the standard level of wetness, she knew for certain she’d blazed past every line and was probably going to hell.
She shuddered as her fingers brushed against her clit, a light breath blowing past her lips. She adjusted her legs a little wider apart, letting her fingers pass over the small bit of sensitive flesh, closing her eyes, letting herself drift back into whatever fantasies she’d started. The details of the Genji she last knew -- the muscular arm, the angular face, the heavy cybernetic body -- fully mingled with what she knew of this Genji she’d just begun learning. She imagined him, tenderly, removing her clothes, kissing her, speaking to her in that deep, accented voice she’d heard many times in her world and only once in this one.
She knew his past, supposedly. It was something they’d talked about and something he’d been mostly open with sharing until he’d started to make eyes at a certain blonde doctor. He’d been open about being promiscuous, though she knew that had ended with his hate of himself, but those skills wouldn’t just evaporate. She saw him, in her mind, kissing her, wrapping his fingers through her hair as he held her close. His kiss was slow, leisurely, feasting; he took his fill and then some, slowly opening her up more and more, exploring her. Liz made a noise, finger pressing just a little harder into her clit, an errand, wandering thought entering her brain that she’d never thought she could get so wet at the thought of a kiss.
And then she… let herself sink. His hands, one warm skin and the other cold metal, skimmed won her side, causing goosebumps of two different origins. He took her breasts in hand, just holding them a moment, before his hands shifted and he was able to lightly brush his thumbs over her nipples. Her hand desperately tried to get under her shirt, lifting it up and grabbing hold of her breast, trying to hold it in the same manner that she was imagining him holding it, trying to brush her own cold thumb against her nipple in the way she was imagining him to do. But this was not enough; she was impatient, more than she thought she would be, and the Genji in her fantasy grew impatient too; one of his hands slowly trailed down her body, moving between her legs, brushing against her skin. And she felt her fingers were immediately wrong, until she realized that the Genji in her fantasy had used his metal fingers.
She didn’t even hesitate a moment. Her hands traded places, the flesh one spreading her slick against the skin of her breasts, the metal one that was barely warmed lightly brushed her clit and she almost felt herself jolt. She had done this before, with both hands; never had the prosthesis brought out this kind of a reaction in her before. The Genji in her fantasy did not falter, did not hesitate, did not slowly warm her up; his fingers danced against her flesh and she tried to mimic it, making sparks go through her body. When he dipped his fingers in her, she followed, but it was only the fantasy that chuckled, deep and raggedly, and teased her for being so wet already. She did not even think she had ever heard him say any of the required words before, nor a laugh like that from him, and yet her brain supplied it and it made her whimper and shift in the bed, sheets being pulled a little off her and the cold of the room flowing over her.
She wanted more. More in life and in this fantasy, and she would get neither. The Genji in her fantasy only smirked if she tried to reach for him, shifting farther away, slowing his pace to punish her for her boldness. “This is for you,” he said into her ear, more breath than voice. “I want to watch you. I want to see you come undone. Later… later you’ll get more.” And she whined in the room and in her fantasy, even as his efforts increased, as he began touching her in a way that she knew would tip her over the edge sooner than later. And she copied it, feeling her mouth fall open and her hair stick to her face, sweat beading across her body as she got closer and closer to the edge.
And then he said, “Come, Liz.” And she did, her flesh hand immediately flying to her mouth, biting down on some of her fingers as she came. He fingered her through it and she idly, slowly, did the same. When he stopped, she did; when he lifted his hand to her mouth, the her in her fantasy opened it, wrapping her lips around them to clean them for him, giving him a half lidded look that she hoped would invite him to fuck her. The real her was not nearly as alluring as she slowly, lazily cleaned herself from her fingers.
When she finished, she pulled them out with a pop, both of her hands falling to her side. She felt satisfied and disgusting. She should not have done that. It was a mistake; she’d never be able to talk to him again without thinking of this. She gave herself a few more moments for her breathing to even out, rolling back over onto her side to try to sleep.
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