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Mickey1998
Meteorite
- Joined
- Dec 1, 2023
Hello and Salutations! My name is Mickey!
Thank you so much for clicking on my request thread! I hope you find everything you are looking for, and more! If you have any questions after your perusal I would love to answer them in my DMs.
Enjoy!~
To start! A but about me as a person and a writer.
As a person I have a full time job, as well as a long term relationship so time does get the better of me every once and awhile. That being said I thrive on personal connection and discussion so even though I might not be able to respond with long posts I can definitely keep up with OOC conversation and even just adjust to shorter responses for a period of time.
I love brainstorming plot points and extra character information! Even when a plot is unraveling it is common for me to shoot a ‘what do you think of this’ message quite frequently. If this bothers you I’m really sorry, but it helps me connect with my plots and partners!
As a writer!
I have been writing for at least 13 years and I would like to think I am on the more literate side of the scale. You wont ever find me writing in italics or *action* styles. I prefer third person past tense long form posts. My length does vary and I really don’t have a requirement for my partner, only that an effort is made and quality is controlled. Though I am not a stranger to typos so I can’t throw stones in my own glass house.
I am looking for a partner comfortable writing for more dominant characters. I have a thing for large gruff male leads, with soft spots for their female (or male!) partners.
My Hard No’s
- Incest (biological)
- Cheating of any kind.
- Older woman x younger man
- Scat
- Death
- Face claims (no direct faceclaims. Pictures of bodies or pieces of people like beards or outfits are fine.) I do prefer descriptions
- Sub partners
- Godmodding
My Hard Yes’s
- OOC plot chatting
- Character descriptions
- Size difference
- Age difference
- Dom/sub
- Big/little
- Most forms of bdsm
- Plot development
- Hurt/Comfort plots
- Fantasy
- Historical
- Modern
- Sci-fi
- Thriller romance
Pairing and Plot Ideas
Below are some pairings I would love to do! This portion will be edited and adjusted occasionally so definitely pop back in!
My Character x Partners Character
Below are some pairings I would love to do! This portion will be edited and adjusted occasionally so definitely pop back in!
My Character x Partners Character
- Human x Demon
- Vampire x Vampire
- Human x Vampire
- Time Traveler x Historical Person
- Historical Person x Time Traveler
- Girl x Stalker
- Biker Girl x Mafia Member
- Girl x Biker Gang Member
- Girl x Mafia/Organized Crime Member
- Girl x Gruff Older Man
- Princess x Knight
- Princess x Assassin
- Assassin x Prince Target
- Assassin x King
- Princess x King
- Author x Character
New Phoenix. Survivors compound: 2050AD
Dust coated the inside of Nerissa's throat, penetrating through her layered scarf and seeping into every crevice it could find. The grit irritated soft skin, wearing away not only at her mouth but granules pressed into her nose and eyes, any orifice would do.
It was a familiar irritation within the barbed walls of the compound. The supplied tactical gear only protected its citizens from potential attack from other compounds, not the true enemy. Sand.
Dry, cracked skin was an everyday occurrence, exasperated by the lack of enclosed spaces. What was once a large metropolis once not too long ago was laid to waste and the buildings that touched the sky now lay in rubble on the ground.
Whatever did survive the World Bombing no longer sported windows, and many had lost walls and roofs that offered shelter from the extreme elements of the southern state. The residential militia had put many of the capable civilians to work to patch the city up, but with limited tools and proper materials it turned out more like an expansive hobo haven than a proper city.
Nerissa grew up in this environment. Armed guards, military equipment that never turned off even when the sun went down, and many other people just trying to make a living at the end of the world were her every day. It was a harsh living, growing harsher by the day as resources were a constant struggle to attain and relations between compounds were incredibly strained.
As a single woman with no family or protection, the world couldn't get much more dangerous than this. Until They arrived.
—
"They're going to try making contact today." A hushed voice echoed through the market square, similar sentiments had been whispered throughout the hot, dry morning. The subject was a large silhouette that had made its home on the horizon. It was a blot against the cloudless sky, like an eye watching from the heavens. Issa couldn't tell if it was looking down on them with acceptance or scorn. She wouldn't be surprised if it was the latter. Such an advanced piece of technology must have belonged to an incredibly evolved race, compared to their pathetic city it was almost funny.
No communication had given insight as to what they were doing in the nearby cosmos, only vigilance from the heavens and fear from the scorched earth.
The citizens within the arid market could only spend their time speculating as to what, or who was inside the black mass. The retro radio tower in the center of market square was pinging anyone who would listen day and night ever since They let themselves be known. It seemed that other compounds were also on high alert, a few with large military missiles left over from the war had prepared to light the fuse if any threatening movement was made. The tension was almost unbearable, and those within the fence and barbed wire used gossip as a way to forget about the severity of their situation.
Conspiracy theories were a constant source of amusement, they helped many cope with the impending doom of whatever was residing inside the ship that probably had the capability of destroying the entire world in one fell swoop. Perhaps the higher-ups knew what they were dealing with. Talk of government conspiracy was widespread, not that there was much of a government anymore, but it wouldn't be shocking if those in charge were keeping critical information from their population. They barely informed them of the state of their food stores, let alone sensitive matters like extraterrestrials.
The thought pulled a sardonic smile from under Nerissa's scarf, the entire situation was comical as she inspected bags of rice and potatoes from one of the many market stalls. Their prices had risen astronomically in the past few weeks, an irony that wasn't lost on her. Another apocalypse loomed, and capitalism continued to leach.
"10 silver pieces? Mr.Grennings, this is twice what you were asking last week. I can give you 6." The small bits of metal jangled in her leather coin purse as Issa shifted through it all. The old man behind the wooden stall watched scathingly as she produced 6 small pieces of silver scrap. Ever since the government collapsed, currency was something that had to be rethought. Digital banking caused physical cash and coins to be incredibly rare to find and were not suitable for mass trade.
Thus, the piece was born. Small bits of metal that could be smelted down into useful tools if enough was saved, and eventually just an accepted tender, valued by what kind of metal was given.
"It says 10. Clear as day." His large meaty hand pushed her 6 pieces away as though they were a rotten corpse. "Find another stall." Issa's grip tightened on the cold metal in her palm. He knew that he was the only stall owner.
Dust coated the inside of Nerissa's throat, penetrating through her layered scarf and seeping into every crevice it could find. The grit irritated soft skin, wearing away not only at her mouth but granules pressed into her nose and eyes, any orifice would do.
It was a familiar irritation within the barbed walls of the compound. The supplied tactical gear only protected its citizens from potential attack from other compounds, not the true enemy. Sand.
Dry, cracked skin was an everyday occurrence, exasperated by the lack of enclosed spaces. What was once a large metropolis once not too long ago was laid to waste and the buildings that touched the sky now lay in rubble on the ground.
Whatever did survive the World Bombing no longer sported windows, and many had lost walls and roofs that offered shelter from the extreme elements of the southern state. The residential militia had put many of the capable civilians to work to patch the city up, but with limited tools and proper materials it turned out more like an expansive hobo haven than a proper city.
Nerissa grew up in this environment. Armed guards, military equipment that never turned off even when the sun went down, and many other people just trying to make a living at the end of the world were her every day. It was a harsh living, growing harsher by the day as resources were a constant struggle to attain and relations between compounds were incredibly strained.
As a single woman with no family or protection, the world couldn't get much more dangerous than this. Until They arrived.
—
"They're going to try making contact today." A hushed voice echoed through the market square, similar sentiments had been whispered throughout the hot, dry morning. The subject was a large silhouette that had made its home on the horizon. It was a blot against the cloudless sky, like an eye watching from the heavens. Issa couldn't tell if it was looking down on them with acceptance or scorn. She wouldn't be surprised if it was the latter. Such an advanced piece of technology must have belonged to an incredibly evolved race, compared to their pathetic city it was almost funny.
No communication had given insight as to what they were doing in the nearby cosmos, only vigilance from the heavens and fear from the scorched earth.
The citizens within the arid market could only spend their time speculating as to what, or who was inside the black mass. The retro radio tower in the center of market square was pinging anyone who would listen day and night ever since They let themselves be known. It seemed that other compounds were also on high alert, a few with large military missiles left over from the war had prepared to light the fuse if any threatening movement was made. The tension was almost unbearable, and those within the fence and barbed wire used gossip as a way to forget about the severity of their situation.
Conspiracy theories were a constant source of amusement, they helped many cope with the impending doom of whatever was residing inside the ship that probably had the capability of destroying the entire world in one fell swoop. Perhaps the higher-ups knew what they were dealing with. Talk of government conspiracy was widespread, not that there was much of a government anymore, but it wouldn't be shocking if those in charge were keeping critical information from their population. They barely informed them of the state of their food stores, let alone sensitive matters like extraterrestrials.
The thought pulled a sardonic smile from under Nerissa's scarf, the entire situation was comical as she inspected bags of rice and potatoes from one of the many market stalls. Their prices had risen astronomically in the past few weeks, an irony that wasn't lost on her. Another apocalypse loomed, and capitalism continued to leach.
"10 silver pieces? Mr.Grennings, this is twice what you were asking last week. I can give you 6." The small bits of metal jangled in her leather coin purse as Issa shifted through it all. The old man behind the wooden stall watched scathingly as she produced 6 small pieces of silver scrap. Ever since the government collapsed, currency was something that had to be rethought. Digital banking caused physical cash and coins to be incredibly rare to find and were not suitable for mass trade.
Thus, the piece was born. Small bits of metal that could be smelted down into useful tools if enough was saved, and eventually just an accepted tender, valued by what kind of metal was given.
"It says 10. Clear as day." His large meaty hand pushed her 6 pieces away as though they were a rotten corpse. "Find another stall." Issa's grip tightened on the cold metal in her palm. He knew that he was the only stall owner.
The dawn swept in cool and damp, the morning crow of a rooster down the lane echoed throughout the wood outside Ophelia's bedroom window. Her thin blanket was a poor shield from the environment but the discomfort was a crisp wake-up call to raise her bleary mind. Her eyes cracked open to the cozy sight of the early morning rays filtering through her wavy glass windows, streaming across the uneven floorboards and the worn quilt of her full-size bed. A smile immediately stretched across her tired face, Alexander would be there at any moment. Her birthday had just begun.
Like a whirlwind, Ophelia flung herself from her bed, took the cool water of her washbasin, and scrubbed herself clean through the goosebumps and shivers. Her hair was plaited, an intricate style she learned from Lady Saorsi's handmaiden the week prior, and her dress looked over and mended wherever she saw a moth hole or wear. It was a high neckline floral print dress, faded with age but soft and comfortable. It was her best article of clothing and she cherished it greatly, the first gift Alexander had ever bought her. It was secondhand when he purchased it, a local Lady's daughter had gifted it to her maid whom Alexander purchased from.
To think, she owned something that was once a Lady's! It covered the unsightly marks and scars across her back and throat beautifully. The warped mirror in her room showed a shining picture as she put it on, the material was softer than her usual frock and felt like a cloud on her rough skin. She felt like a princess as she twisted this way and that before the silver on the wall, her reflection distorted but still worlds better than what she was used to. Surely Alexander would be thrilled to see her as she was, proud to call her his wife. Her heart twittered in her chest during a final look at herself before she put herself to work.
The house needed a thorough cleaning and the meal she wanted to prepare required preparation. Her pantry was quite bare, but thankfully what was left could be used for a quality stew. The final pieces of bread would be a fantastic side to the meal. Alexander would not feel the lack the village had felt over the past months during the famine. She would show him she could provide for him, to treat him like a Lord in their modest home.
She worked quickly, sacrificing her worn finger and sore back for the intense scrubbing the house needed. She wanted the place to shine. The stew slowly cooked on the fire while she worked, occasionally she threw in another ingredient to the mix while the delicious scent wafted through the home. Mixing with the sterile scent of her soaps. Her empty stomach twisted and rumbled, nausea lightening her head while she moved but the image of her and Alexander sitting at the table, laughing and enjoying their meal gave her the energy to power through.
She scrubbed for hours, prepared for Alexander to walk through the door at any second until the house couldn't take another pass from her thin cleaning rag. Alexander must have been running behind with his business. The sun was high in the sky when she took a step outside the home, her basket at her side as she told herself she was going to pick flowers for their table. An excuse to stand in the front looking and listening for a horse-drawn carriage up the gravel path toward her.
She twiddled around the flowers, slowly adjusting each bloom in a search for the perfect one, picking those that met her standards. There she sat amongst the grass for another hour, till her dress risked staining from the dew-covered foliage and she retreated back into her home where she put the blossoms in a vase and sat at the stool of her table staring at the door till the sun dipped below the high treeline. Her stew bubbled and boiled within the pot, overcooked and lightly burnt when she finally poured herself a bowl. It was too dark now for any carriage to travel past the village, the rocky road too much of a risk for the horse's delicate legs when pulling heavy cargo.
A sniffle escaped her as Ophelia stared down into her bowl of thin soup. As she looked into the chunky liquid she was thankful Alexander wasn't there to see it. The taste was bitter with the burn from the pot, and her bread had gone stale. It was an embarrassment of a meal. He would have wanted something more substantial. Her own empty stomach rejoiced at its taste, but she was a lowborn individual. Even slop would taste fantastic to her, Alexanders palette was much more refined. She ate the stew quickly, her belly full when she cleaned her space in the dark. A hot tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it while her mangled hand ached with the scrubbing of her bowl.
Of course, Alexander wouldn't come. She had never given him anything worthy of coming home to. He was tired of her, of her dim wit and pathetic appearance. He would always say she pitied herself too much, and she was just proving him right.
"He is a busy man Ophelia. He can't take care of your every need. Don't be greedy." She angrily wiped her tears away, upset that she lowered herself to the emotional state of a child once again. She would do better.
A knock at the door echoed through the space, her heart immediately racing as her head whipped up to stare at the wooden entrance.
"Alexander?" Her voice elated, her feet flying her toward the door. She quickly opened it, not once thinking that Alexander would never knock to enter his own home.
A robed figure stood in the dying light of the evening, the cold fall air seeping into the room around him. It felt more frigid than before. Ophelia's heart plummeted as she realized it was not Alexander. This man was far taller than her husband, more willowy in stature. She couldn't make out his face in the dim light under his hood, but his posture was stiff and foreboding. Something felt off about him, but she didn't want to assume.
"How can I help you?" Her voice held a thread of weariness. No one came out so far from the village, her home rather isolated within the thick wood that surrounded the valley. Maybe he was lost or was a passerby looking for directions. As rare as it was.
"I am here to help you." A deep tenor reverberated from the void of his face, Ophelia's eyes widened. Her hand gripped the doorframe tightly.
"I…I didn't request any help. You must have the wrong home, but thank you. The village is down the path, maybe your…client resides there." She pointed toward the faint light of the town a few miles down the mountainside. Its nightlife rather lively for such a small and run-down area. Drinking was a favorite pastime for many to take their minds off the famine and drought.
But the man didn't move from his position. His body unnaturally still, he reminded her of a tale she had once been told of the living death. A man robed in night and wielding a wicked scythe to cut the soul from one's body. A cautionary tale of strangers and the pitilessness of death. Thankfully there was no savage blade in sight, but the ominous air that surrounded him chilled her to the bone.
"I am here to help you." He repeated.
"I do not need help. Thank you. You may be on your way." She tried to sound firm, but a quiver in her tongue gave her away. He took a step forward, towering over her. "Please, don't come any closer!"
"I am here to help." His hand rose, and she backed away, leaving the doorframe entirely. He followed her hurried steps with a long slow gate, entering the dark recesses of her home. He almost faded into the shadows, her eyes straining to see him. The pounding of her heart was loud within her ears, like intense winds whirling around her. His hand remained suspended, reaching toward her until she was pinned against the far wall, her head shook a silent no. Begging him to retreat.
"Please, I have nothing for you, I didn't ask for help!" He was a step in front of her now. A wide chest took up her vision while his hand rested at the crown of her head. His skin was cold, icy, and incredibly smooth. Hot tears trailed down her cheeks, and her body shook like a leaf under him as she waited for a blow.
"I am here to help." He said one final time, his voice thinning and tunneling away from her. She didn't have time to cry out before she went limp, and her world went black.
Like a whirlwind, Ophelia flung herself from her bed, took the cool water of her washbasin, and scrubbed herself clean through the goosebumps and shivers. Her hair was plaited, an intricate style she learned from Lady Saorsi's handmaiden the week prior, and her dress looked over and mended wherever she saw a moth hole or wear. It was a high neckline floral print dress, faded with age but soft and comfortable. It was her best article of clothing and she cherished it greatly, the first gift Alexander had ever bought her. It was secondhand when he purchased it, a local Lady's daughter had gifted it to her maid whom Alexander purchased from.
To think, she owned something that was once a Lady's! It covered the unsightly marks and scars across her back and throat beautifully. The warped mirror in her room showed a shining picture as she put it on, the material was softer than her usual frock and felt like a cloud on her rough skin. She felt like a princess as she twisted this way and that before the silver on the wall, her reflection distorted but still worlds better than what she was used to. Surely Alexander would be thrilled to see her as she was, proud to call her his wife. Her heart twittered in her chest during a final look at herself before she put herself to work.
The house needed a thorough cleaning and the meal she wanted to prepare required preparation. Her pantry was quite bare, but thankfully what was left could be used for a quality stew. The final pieces of bread would be a fantastic side to the meal. Alexander would not feel the lack the village had felt over the past months during the famine. She would show him she could provide for him, to treat him like a Lord in their modest home.
She worked quickly, sacrificing her worn finger and sore back for the intense scrubbing the house needed. She wanted the place to shine. The stew slowly cooked on the fire while she worked, occasionally she threw in another ingredient to the mix while the delicious scent wafted through the home. Mixing with the sterile scent of her soaps. Her empty stomach twisted and rumbled, nausea lightening her head while she moved but the image of her and Alexander sitting at the table, laughing and enjoying their meal gave her the energy to power through.
She scrubbed for hours, prepared for Alexander to walk through the door at any second until the house couldn't take another pass from her thin cleaning rag. Alexander must have been running behind with his business. The sun was high in the sky when she took a step outside the home, her basket at her side as she told herself she was going to pick flowers for their table. An excuse to stand in the front looking and listening for a horse-drawn carriage up the gravel path toward her.
She twiddled around the flowers, slowly adjusting each bloom in a search for the perfect one, picking those that met her standards. There she sat amongst the grass for another hour, till her dress risked staining from the dew-covered foliage and she retreated back into her home where she put the blossoms in a vase and sat at the stool of her table staring at the door till the sun dipped below the high treeline. Her stew bubbled and boiled within the pot, overcooked and lightly burnt when she finally poured herself a bowl. It was too dark now for any carriage to travel past the village, the rocky road too much of a risk for the horse's delicate legs when pulling heavy cargo.
A sniffle escaped her as Ophelia stared down into her bowl of thin soup. As she looked into the chunky liquid she was thankful Alexander wasn't there to see it. The taste was bitter with the burn from the pot, and her bread had gone stale. It was an embarrassment of a meal. He would have wanted something more substantial. Her own empty stomach rejoiced at its taste, but she was a lowborn individual. Even slop would taste fantastic to her, Alexanders palette was much more refined. She ate the stew quickly, her belly full when she cleaned her space in the dark. A hot tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it while her mangled hand ached with the scrubbing of her bowl.
Of course, Alexander wouldn't come. She had never given him anything worthy of coming home to. He was tired of her, of her dim wit and pathetic appearance. He would always say she pitied herself too much, and she was just proving him right.
"He is a busy man Ophelia. He can't take care of your every need. Don't be greedy." She angrily wiped her tears away, upset that she lowered herself to the emotional state of a child once again. She would do better.
A knock at the door echoed through the space, her heart immediately racing as her head whipped up to stare at the wooden entrance.
"Alexander?" Her voice elated, her feet flying her toward the door. She quickly opened it, not once thinking that Alexander would never knock to enter his own home.
A robed figure stood in the dying light of the evening, the cold fall air seeping into the room around him. It felt more frigid than before. Ophelia's heart plummeted as she realized it was not Alexander. This man was far taller than her husband, more willowy in stature. She couldn't make out his face in the dim light under his hood, but his posture was stiff and foreboding. Something felt off about him, but she didn't want to assume.
"How can I help you?" Her voice held a thread of weariness. No one came out so far from the village, her home rather isolated within the thick wood that surrounded the valley. Maybe he was lost or was a passerby looking for directions. As rare as it was.
"I am here to help you." A deep tenor reverberated from the void of his face, Ophelia's eyes widened. Her hand gripped the doorframe tightly.
"I…I didn't request any help. You must have the wrong home, but thank you. The village is down the path, maybe your…client resides there." She pointed toward the faint light of the town a few miles down the mountainside. Its nightlife rather lively for such a small and run-down area. Drinking was a favorite pastime for many to take their minds off the famine and drought.
But the man didn't move from his position. His body unnaturally still, he reminded her of a tale she had once been told of the living death. A man robed in night and wielding a wicked scythe to cut the soul from one's body. A cautionary tale of strangers and the pitilessness of death. Thankfully there was no savage blade in sight, but the ominous air that surrounded him chilled her to the bone.
"I am here to help you." He repeated.
"I do not need help. Thank you. You may be on your way." She tried to sound firm, but a quiver in her tongue gave her away. He took a step forward, towering over her. "Please, don't come any closer!"
"I am here to help." His hand rose, and she backed away, leaving the doorframe entirely. He followed her hurried steps with a long slow gate, entering the dark recesses of her home. He almost faded into the shadows, her eyes straining to see him. The pounding of her heart was loud within her ears, like intense winds whirling around her. His hand remained suspended, reaching toward her until she was pinned against the far wall, her head shook a silent no. Begging him to retreat.
"Please, I have nothing for you, I didn't ask for help!" He was a step in front of her now. A wide chest took up her vision while his hand rested at the crown of her head. His skin was cold, icy, and incredibly smooth. Hot tears trailed down her cheeks, and her body shook like a leaf under him as she waited for a blow.
"I am here to help." He said one final time, his voice thinning and tunneling away from her. She didn't have time to cry out before she went limp, and her world went black.
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