Closed big trouble with a bubblegum smile~ ♡ [bratty switch for switches/dommes]

[yokai]

“I want to do things so wild with you that I don't know how to say them." - Anais Nin
craving: mommy dommes 'n cute tomboys; gritty sci-fi shenanigans; ass-focused smut (♪ butts, butts, i love butts ♫)​

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lookin' for a few fun roleplays
preferably story with kink, not just smut
FxF (trans friendly!) or Female x FemmeNB/Fu
pms preferred; slow reply rate, usually a week+

me - writes 300+ words per post
loves to world-build and play multiple characters
types like a gremlin ooc, not ic (samples below!)

you - just put in some thought and effort,
a few paragraphs per post will do---
help carry the action! brainstorm with me!

if that's a beat you can dance to, drop me a pm.
things i like below; my preferred roles in yellow:​

◣ Kinks 'n Such (NSFW)

♡ i'm a bratty, sub-leaning switch. my girls run the gamut from playful 'n enthusiastic to uppity 'n reluctant. all 18+
♡ i like playing petite girls 'n shortstacks with tons of love in their tight bodies. tall girls who act smol are fun, too.
♡ monster girls are a real favorite. i play 'em creepy-cute but like playing against most types: cute, sexy, or terrifying.
♡ my hard no's are hyper sizes/inflat., bimbofication, fisting/prolapse, scat, diaper play, bdsm hoods, and mutilation.
♡ feeling cruel? i'm low-key obsessed with erotic horror, toxic relationships, and monsters. feed my inner masochist!
♡ a bit more switchy? i'm down for a few small domme x big sub scenes, lots of teasing 'n light bondage included.​

rough sex || any con || bdsm (mdlg/petplay) || humiliation || pain/punishment || coercion || affection/praise! || aftercare
age/size diff. || butt stuff! || rimming || face fucking/facesitting || wet, messy sex || squirting 'n cumplay! || watersports
body worship || breath control || collars || strap-ons 'n butt plugs || kidnapping || free use || group/public sex || monsters!​

◣ Fantasy: Magical Sexy Funtimes (and Some Spook'ums, Too)

♡ a devout order of priestesses is all that guards an empire from the depredations of lustful monster girls
♡ seductive evils lurk at the heart of a bizarre traveling carnival; where ever it visits, girls soon go missing
♡ a half-feral druidess wanders the back alleys 'n sewers of a magical metropolis, caring for the urban wildlife
♡ a gunslinger 'n a saloon girl-turned-vampire join forces to hunt the demons responsible for ruining their lives
♡ while vacationing in Japan, a college student is swept off to the spirit world by a midnight parade of yokai​

dark fantasy || low fantasy || steampunk || cosmic horror || American or Southern Gothic || surrealism || weird westerns
spirits 'n animism || witches || fae || yokai 'n kami || demons || prehistoric settings || medieval Europe || feudal or Meiji Japan
epic journeys || urban fairy tales || supernatural mysteries || Faustian bargains || sapphic cults || hauntings 'n curses​

◣ Sci-Fi: Aliens, Telepaths 'n Cute Android Robutts

♡ a deep space salvor rescues a girl living alone on a derelict ship, only to discover she might not be entirely human
♡ something alien haunts the underbelly of a vast 'n crumbling orbital city, twisting its citizens into hedonistic horrors
♡ looking to sate her darkest desires, a lonely woman buys a companion android modeled after her late daughter
♡ a woman roams a planet where it never stops raining, accompanied by an amorphous bio-engineered slime girl
♡ after most the population disappears, survivors struggle to find purpose in a world newly emptied of human life​

soft sci-fi/science fantasy || cyberpunk || Gothic sci-fi || dying Earth || space westerns || solarpunk || gritty superhero tales
espers 'n telepaths || mutants || starfish aliens || androids || girl gangs || political intrigue || pandemics || corrupt/insane AI
interstellar travel || alien planets || speculative biology || doomed space colonies || mega cities || alt. histories/universes​

◣ Fandoms: Super Cool Nerd Stuff

♡ mh - after defeating an elder dragon, two novice hunters are catapulted to the heights of fame; how will they cope?
♡ pkmn - a sadistic con artist lures an uppity, wannabe idol into the seedy world of Pokemon sex shows 'n prostitution
♡ pkmn - when a cute punk gets in trouble with the law, a local gym leader intercedes 'n takes the girl under her wing
♡ d&d Eberron - a Medani heiress gets in over her head when she absconds to Sharn to join an adventurer's guild
♡ l5r - an ambitious young magistrate blackmails a talented samurai-ko, hoping to claim her as an underling and lover​

Monster Hunter || Pokemon || Witcher || Tales from the Loop || D&D || Legend of the Five Rings || Vampire: The Masquerade​

◣ Writing Sample: A Li'l Fan Service

"If you're so smart you should know," Bell snarled.

Katalin looked over at her, curious about the sudden change in tone. Why was she so upset? Kat watched her intently for several long seconds, like a cat might watch a shadow, but found nothing particularly interesting in her head. So, she turned away without saying a word. Bell's discomforts and anxieties weren't important, really. She'd get over them, or not. It wasn't Katalin's job to ensure her kidnapper's happiness. When others would've taken the opportunity to escape, she had guided Bell to safety because the other woman had thrown her clear of the security officers' guns. A saved life deserved a life saved in return, but her obligations to the pirate ended with leading her to refuge in the basement.

Let her be pissed off, Katalin thought as she spread one of her quilts on the ground.

Bell had told her to leave if she liked, but Katalin didn't like. This became abundantly clear as she set about making a nest from the blanket and began undressing to sleep. She was going to stay, at least for awhile. Katalin pulled off her boots and set them neatly beside her makeshift bed, then stripped off the cloak she wore for warmth and to protect her clothes from dust and grime. Her shirt came off over her head, and her skirt slipped down round her hips to puddle at her feet. When she stood in just panties and a simple white shift, she folded all her clothes together in a little bundle: a pillow which she placed at the edge of her bed.

If she was self-conscious at all about standing in front of Bell in her underwear, Katalin didn't show it. Her small breasts pressed against the fabric of her shift and, while they fully covered what they were meant to cover, the panties she wore--- cute in their blue-striped practicality--- rode low on her hips and did nothing to hide the smooth expanse of her thighs. Katalin seemed oblivious, or at least completely unconcerned, that she might be giving Bell a show. She even got down on hands and knees to make minute adjustments to her blanket and pillow, bending over in the process and giving Bell the perfect view of her ass. Heart-shaped and pert, it swayed gently back and forth as she worked to smooth wrinkles and neaten folds. When she was done, Katalin wrapped her second quilt around her shoulders and settled down atop her fastidiously-made little bed.

"You think the quiet is uncomfortable, don't you?" she asked, staring at Bell in that unsettlingly intense way she had. "We can talk, I guess." She fell quiet for a moment, as if thinking of something to say or of some way to start a conversation. Then, "Your stomach's nice. Did anyone ever tell you?"
​

◣ Writing Sample: Scene Setting 'n Exposition

The evening had passed in a streak of street lights, flat black sky, and rushing wind.

It'd been two weeks since the funeral. Two weeks spent in constant motion. Valerie Saint-James had buried her mother, and had then been buried, in turn, by a flurry of phone calls and condolences and personal visits. She'd heard "I'm sorry for your loss" a thousand times, until the words became little more than noise, and "she was a great woman" a thousand-thousand times more. Both were bullshit; no one was sorry and her mother had been far from great. Her girlfriend--- her ex-girlfriend now, Val supposed--- had said, now you're free of her, and that was bullshit too. Val threw a vase worth more than most people make in an entire year across the room and shouted, and she couldn't quite remember what was said, but it was bad. Bad enough that Becca didn't call for three whole days, and when she finally did, her voice was meek and quietly begging as it issued from the speaker: Val, baby. Please, please pick up. Val hadn't, and she didn't call her back either.

Who she had called, once it'd all become too damned much to handle anymore and it was apparent she needed to get the hell away from everything--- the well-wishers, Becca's nauseatingly supportive voice mails, all the damned memories of the woman who'd raised her--- was her mother's lawyer, a cleaning service, and a travel agency. Though normally someone would've arranged these things on Val's behalf, this time she did it herself. She didn't want anyone to know what she was planning.

The lawyer confirmed Val had inherited everything (no big surprise there), including (and, Val had circled this particular point as carefully as possible, so as not to give away that it was the real reason she'd called) her great grandfather's summer house: a sprawling Spanish colonial on the Florida coast, which she had visited only twice in her entire life, both times hurried affairs that saw her and her mother gone before dark. Why her mother had been so reluctant to spend time there, Val didn't understand, but the place had lodged itself firmly in her memory. It'd been beautiful and lonely, its edges marked by decay but its bones strong. And, if there was somewhere to go to disappear a while, it was that half-forgotten place.

The cleaning service promised they'd have it livable within the week, and Val knew from those childhood visits that it was furnished, the couches and chairs draped with white sheets, and that her mom had paid for its upkeep year after year, almost religiously, though they never visited. So, she got a ticket for a flight, paying the travel agency a premium for a last minute booking, and days later, she was driving west from Jacksonville toward the panhandle, fleeing through the Florida night like a bird before a storm.

~ ~ ~​

She chose Jacksonville because flying to Tallahassee or Pensacola, or anywhere else in the area, would've delayed her departure by several days, which felt unacceptable once she made up her mind to go. The drive would do her good anyways, she told herself, and choosing an airport further away from her intended destination would make it harder for anyone trying to find her to follow her trail.

As she left the city, the top down on the convertible that'd been waiting for her at JAX International, the wind buffeted her, turning her midnight-colored hair into a tornado of looping black twists and curls. In the rest of the country, it was already fall, but apparently the southeast had yet to receive the memo; the air hitting the pale oval of her face was as warm and humid as a lover's exhalation. She listened to its low roar, and the hum of her tires on the road as they ate up the miles, because she didn't dare turn on the radio. She wasn't as famous as she'd once been, but her mother's death still occasionally cropped up in the headlines, even now that she was buried, and Val didn't want to hear it.

She thought a great deal as she drove, about nothing in particular.

She recalled how Jacksonville had once been set to become the Hollywood of the east coast, until a great fire swept through the city. The biggest the state had ever seen, it started in someone's kitchen, and by the time the inferno reached its peak, the glow could be seen over the horizon in Savannah, and the smoke plumes from as far away as North Carolina. Val's mother had told her about it on their first trip to the summer house, and about how afterward all the movie makers had left their ruined studios for New York City, which was uncoincidentally where the two of them had lived ever since Val had scored her first acting gig at the tender ago of thirteen (she'd played the best friend of the rival of the middle daughter of the starring family in a sitcom that survived all of two seasons).

Her mother had known similar stories about many of the places they'd passed together, which Val was now passing again alone, stories she claimed her own mother had told her when she was young. History runs as deep and dark in Florida as the swamps, she'd said, and as the miles whipped by one after another, it never occurred to Val to question why she had taken the time to scare her with disaster stories about the cities, barrier islands, and swamp towns scattered along the Gulf coast, while saying almost nothing of the house where they were going. It just didn't feel important.

It was nearly three in the morning when Val caught her first sight of it---

What she thought of as her great grandfather's summer house could more aptly be described as a mansion. In daylight, it was a marvel of pale pink stucco walls, two-storeys tall with gently sloping roofs of faded red tile. Nearly its whole front was given over to a narrow patio of pillared archways, and where the archways ended, tall shuttered windows and delicate balconies with thin, wrought-iron railings began.

But, Val could, at first, make out none of this--- as she rounded a bend in the road beneath the moonless sky, she saw it only as a long and angular shadow, crouched behind an uneven, wavering wall of palm trees like some great stalking beast. It wasn't until she drove through the front gate, and her headlights painted the house's facade in sharp silver LED light, that she saw any of its details.

Despite the cleaning service's best efforts, Val was immediately struck by its air of neglect and loneliness, just as she'd been as a child. The plaster covering its walls was cracked, the tiles of its roof crumbling and, in some places, missing entirely. There was nothing that could be done about such things on short notice, with just soap and water and a bit of elbow grease.

As she pulled into its circular drive and killed her car's engine, the smell of rot and flowers greeted her; the gardens which lined the house's front had long ago become a jungle of tangled weeds and old perennials that, against all odds, had survived and run riot. In better times, the balconies had also held beds of flowering things, but where the gardens were fecund with twisted life, the balconies now played host only to death. They were choked with the dried husks of long-dead vines, which tumbled through the railings and down the pale pink walls like tangled clumps of matted hair.

Val closed the convertible's top before climbing out. She'd expected to feel something upon returning to this old place--- nostalgia, relief, some fraction of the wonder she'd experienced on her previous visits--- but looking at it, she felt only tired. Someone, probably a maid from the cleaning service, had left a light on in the patio, and though it was a faint and feeble thing, Val followed it, pausing only to lock her car door before heading up the steps and through the front door.
​

 

[yokai]

bomp.​