Fx M or F Throwing a line out there to see who (or what!) bites! - story heavy plots

[corgercorg]

Hello! Thanks for stopping by. ヾ(＾∇＾)​

A little about me:

• I've been RP-ing for 10+ years now.
• I am 28 and am in the Mountain Timezone.
• I like to write lots of details and like to take things slow - just really soak in the scene, you know? My pace is on the slow side (i.e., I do not post-splice). In terms of length, I'm flexible. I can range from multi-page to a single paragraph depending on what the scene calls for. Writing samples available here.
  • I favour character driven stories, so I really focus on character thoughts/reactions/details when I write.
• Generally speaking, I would prefer to play the female character. But there are a couple specific ones where I'd like to play the male character (these are labelled!).
  • Side note: While I have no issue writing a cast of side characters, I prefer to focus on 1 main couple (i.e., I don't double).
• Romance and smut are a must!
• I work a fairly busy job, so my replies can be sporadic. I aim for once-a-day, but can sometimes be once-every-few-days. I can do multiple posts a day too, if the stars align!
• I'm open to doing fandoms, but I only write original characters.

What I look for in a partner:

• Be 21+.
• Be able to match me in terms of pace/style. I know a slower, detail-heavy style is not for everyone, but that is what I'm looking for.
• Write in 3rd person. I prefer past tense, but can work with present tense if you have a strong preference!
• Be able to give me at least one post every other day, or a couple times a week, or just communicate if you're going to be away for an extended period of time.
• Be OK with writing here or on Discord!

Now - onto the fun stuff! Right off the bat, I want to throw out there that I am 100% down to hear any plot, story, or craving you might have that you want to share! I'm always down to hear you out and we can go from there. No worries if it's little more than a vague inclination - I'd love to work out the details with you!

Speaking of vague, I've got some vague ideas as well. Feel free to message me if any catches your eye! (If you happen to be able to tell what has influenced them...........I have no shame!)

Plot Bunnies

Med-High Fantasy, monster loving, witchy cottage-in-the-woods - seeking M

In a forest teeming with dangerous beasts, Muse A has decided to set up a small cottage (perhaps in an effort to run away or hide from something in their past?). By doing so, they have inadvertently set up their cozy spot either directly adjacent to, or directly on top of, Muse B's territory. Enter territorial shenanigans that eventually culminate in them being neighbours the tolerate each other.

From there, I think we can take this idea in so many ways! Either we keep it a slice-of-life where the two slowly grow close. Or we can have some of the skeletons in the closet rear their heads and lead them on some angsty journey, or drive them out of their home. It'll be up to us!

For this, I prefer to play the female human against a male monster.

Historical, slice-of-life, bratty nobleman and snarky peasant/commoner - seeking either M or F

I've been sitting on this one for...good god, over ten years now, I think.

This one is definitely more slice-of-life than anything. Set in one of those Regency/Victorian/Pre-War eras, where Muse A is a rich, bratty kid is sent to the countryside as an extended life lesson. Muse B is a salt-of-the-earth type of person, who grew up in hard work on a farm - not necessarily poor, but certainly not rich. Muse B is charged with supervising Muse A. The two probably don't hit it off to being with, but romance eventually blooms.

And then, just as Muse A is growing comfortable, their 'term' is up and they are expected back in the City with their rich family...only to find out that they've been engaged to another rich person! Oh, the drama!

Starters

Vaguely historical, slice-of-life, forbidden love, empress/gladiator - seeking F

Basic Premise:
The unexpected assassination of the sitting ruler and all his heirs has suddenly thrust Y/C onto the throne with no practical training - or even any expectation that they would ever sit on the throne. The Royal Guard has been sent to guard Y/C's life, being that they are the only one left of the royal bloodline (perhaps they are the youngest child, or a bastard child?); however, Y/C (for one reason or another) does not want the Royal Guard by their side. Instead, they have chosen an unlikely candidate to be their bodyguard - in comes M/C, who can be a gladiator, or some sort of warrior-slave.

Except that M/C is, by no reason other than their species/ethnicity/place of birth/etc, is viewed upon by the court and much of the Empire's peoples as being undeserving of the honour to guard Y/C - or is otherwise suspicious of him.

Naturally, of course, the first order of business after getting the Empire settled again is that Y/X will need a partner on that throne. And will soon need heirs to succeed them, should subsequent assassinations succeed once again.

Starter:

There’d been a coup. Or, at least, the attempt at one.

That night, Steinn had awoken to the commotion, eyes flinging open in the dark to the sounds of hurried footsteps. The guards that normally stood outside their cells were a flurry of activity - unusual for any time of day, let alone the dead of night. He hadn’t been able to make out what, exactly, was going on. But it was relatively easy to put two and two together. The princes were slain. The Emperor too. For a while, Steinn sat on his bed (though that would have been a generous descriptor of the cot he was given), straining his ears for any news. With the Emperor dead, he’d assumed that the coup was a success. Though he held no affinity for the man, there was no telling what his replacement would do now. And uncertainty did not sit well with him. Not after so many years of survival.

But no more news came that night, no matter how anxiously he peered out through the iron wrought bars of his cell. A private cell, at least. It was an upgrade from what he was in before, when he was fresh to the Empire. Four men crammed into a cell hardly ten paces apart. It’d been hell. Especially after a fight, when they were all covered in sweat and blood - both foreign and their own.

At least now he had his own bed. His own facilities. And a cell at least twice as big. It was still a cell though. With stone walls and no windows, and guards that patrolled in the night. But he had a small chest for whatever meagre belongings he owned. It was quieter. The food was better.

Getting here was no easy feat, however. So Steinn wasn’t much surprised when, just a day or two later, he received his next set of orders. He would execute the traitors in the arena. Men who were not fighters. No, those had died on that bloody night. These were the noblemen behind the scenes. The ones who were fat with money and power. Steinn didn’t want to think about why there was a rebellion in the first place, lest he find out that the rebels had a good reason. Better to convince himself that these were bad men, for the sake of his conscience. He’d learnt a long time ago to not ask questions.

The day of the execution had the whole underground in a tizzy. Tension rippled in the air. The guards spoke quietly amongst themselves, discussing the nobles and who was likely to last the longest.

“It ain’t fair. I’d have loved t’play with those pigs,” Reece, the gladiator in the cell next to him, grumbled. The man was old. He’d been here even before Steinn arrived. His red beard was braided into a thick line, flecked with white, while his head remained bald - as though all the hair had migrated south of his chin. He was a bloodthirsty sort of killer. The sort that liked to rile up the crowd. Who played with his victim.

“This one’s not for laughs.” Steinn was stretching in his cell, one foot propped against the stone wall as he leaned forward into his, straining taut, toned muscle. He was dressed in a plain, off-white tunic, cinched at the waist by an old leather belt while sandals adorned his feet. But soon they would make him change. “It’s an execution. Not a show.”

Reece barked a laugh. “You don’t think that Empress would want ta’ see those pigs bleed to death?”

Steinn said nothing.

Not long after that, Steinn was ushered into the preparatory hall. He was given his usual gear and his choice of weapon. A steel pauldron down his left arm, thick leather belt strapped across a broad chest. A heavy leather belt to cover over his stomach, leading down to leather strips that dangled over his thighs. Beneath it, he donned dark shorts. Steel bracers clasped over his forearms and along his shins but left his feet bare. Truth be told, he didn’t think he’d need his usual armour set. Steinn didn’t think any of these men would pose much of a challenge. But one could never be too safe.

Then, grabbing a plain, standard-issue sword and shield, he put on his helm and stepped out into the blistering noontime sun.

The first two were as he expected. Fat, soft, and old. They did not don armour - such was part of the price to pay. To Steinn, it seemed like a mercy. No armour meant a fast death. They brandished their scimitars with all the grace of a child. And as he crossed the space of the arena towards them, the dust and sand shifting underfoot, he saw them cower - their swords raised in the air, sun glinting off the old steel as it trembled in their grasp.

Perhaps this was why he had been chosen, and not Reece or any of the other ‘prized’ fighters.

Steinn moved in with surprising deftness for someone of his stature. One of them yelled and brought his sword down, only for it to clang against Steinn’s shield as he raised it up and slashed at the other with his sword-wielding hand. The man didn’t react. The sword slit across his middle and wrenched a scream. Steinn shoved off the other, who stumbled back. He whipped around, sword slicing through the air. The metal found the man’s throat - and just like that, it was over.

Before the man could topple over in a gurgled mess of his own blood, Steinn turned his attention to the remaining traitor - who, by now, had just witnessed his part’s death. The older man’s eyes were white. Tears streaked plump, reddened cheeks. He dropped his sword and dropped to his knees. Steinn didn’t hear - or, perhaps, didn’t allow himself to hear - the babbled cries as he stepped up and made quick work of that one too.

This wasn’t a show for laughs. This was a show of ruthlessness. Of the strength of the Empire. He embodied the consequences of rebellion. Death would be swift. It would be doubtless.

The next two stepped out soon after the bodies of the first pair dropped to the dust. Steinn turned and pursed his lips at the man with a mace. Wielded by the right hands, a mace was a formidable weapon. What it lacked in speed, it more than made up for in strength. But it did not look like that man with the mace had touched one until today.

Steinn wasted little time. He turned and dashed towards the pair - silent, but with his sword at the ready. The prisoner with the mace shouted and swung at him. As he thought, it was a clumsy swing. The weight of the mace yanking him out of balance. Steinn dodged aside and let the man stumble away by his own mistake. Then, he darted up and made quick work of the other one with the sword - ducking low, he swept a leg out, threw the man off his own two feet. And then, like the wildcats of his homeland, he leapt forward and plunged the sword hard and deep - right down and through the man’s chest.

The shadow of a mace loomed overhead.

Sucking in a breath, Steinn dodged off to the side, rolling across the dirt as the mace swung down and lodged into the sand where Steinn had been just a moment ago.

“I’ll kill you! This Empire will be no more!” The man screamed, yanking the mace up from the dirt and charging at him.

Steinn was still on his knees. But he pushed up and swung his shield around. The mace landed right on the face of it - the metal screeching and clanging under the weight. Steinn shoved back with a hard grunt, throwing the man off. He followed through with his attack, tackling the man down to the ground and snatching the mace out of his hands. Then, he swung it down, the spiked end of it smashing into the traitor’s head.

Hot, sticky blood splattered his cheek despite his helm. Steinn stood up onto his feet, lowering his shield, the bloody mace in one hand. His breathing was a bit elevated, shoulders shifting beneath his pauldron. There were supposed to be seven. Which meant three more to go.

The sun prickled on his skin, a fine sheen of sweat glinting off it. He swallowed and tasted the dry heat and dust in his throat. Then, taking a breath, he turned his head and looked up at the Imperial Box. It was too far away to make out much of anything. But there was the Empress. Dressed in grief and shrouded in shadows where she sat in the royal spectating booth. He could not make out her expression from this distance. Whether she was pleased or not. Nor did he care.

Instead, Steinn dropped the mace and turned away, crossing back to where he’d left his sword impaled in the chest of one of the traitors so he could yank it out and prepare for the next wave.

High fantasy, enemies/terror-to-lovers, fae/human - seeking M

Basic Premise:
Essentially, humans live in walled cities to keep out the Fae who lurk in the wilds beyond. As an additional measure of security, small wood houses are constructed in a ring around the main city. Criminals are sent to live in those houses to act as a sort of living barrier - or bait - to keep the Fae distracted and/or satiated. M/C has been sentenced to live in one of those shacks and must survive her term. If she does, she will be allowed home. Y/C is a Fae that encounters her. What we do next will be up to us!

Starter:

Zaria’s first autumn beyond the walls was, somehow, bleaker than the ones behind it. At least behind the walls, everything had been a muted grey - the same grey stones that stretched up high in the sky, that made up every cobblestone street, every multi-story building crammed full of bodies. Every now and then, there’d be a garden, or some hanging pots of flowers, but not nearly enough to drown out the grey.

When Zaria first arrived at the cabin, it’d been summer.

She’d been wild-eyed and furious when the guards dumped her at the front door of the wooden shack, their spears pointed down at her. One of them read her the conditions but she barely heard it over the roar of blood in her ears, the pain searing her neck. Two years. She was to live here for two years. She would be allowed back to Danas once a week to retrieve her rations from the guardhouse, but she would not be able to venture beyond the city gates.

She’d cursed them to hell and back, one hand clasped over the brand burnt into the skin of her neck - on the side of it, where it would be near impossible to hide. They’d ignored her and simply turned away, marching back across the rolling valleys of swaying grass and towards the shadowed city in the distance.

Behind her, the cabin stood as a quiet, dusty prison. The summer woods - lush and green - crawled along the foothills behind it, before giving way to the hard, grey rock of mountains. There’d even been birdsong in the air, drifting on a warm breeze. It was all a deception. Somewhere beyond the blanket of green, between the jagged craggs of rock, was an invisible barrier. The wall keeping humanity safe from the monsters that lurked beyond.

The first week, she’d stolen back to Danas and tried to sneak past the guardhouses. She had to find Kalla. Had to make sure she was alright. But Zaria didn’t manage to get very far before she was caught and thrown back out the gates, a burlap sack of rations tossed after her.

“Try it again, wrench,” the guard had snarled from beneath the city gates. “We’ll have another six months added to your term.”

Zaria did not dare try again.

The rations she was given were not much. One loaf of bread. One slice of hard cheese. One sack of flour. Enough for her to not starve. Just barely. Anything else, she’d have to figure it out herself.

Which was great for the daughter of a seamstress and a cobbler. Absolutely fantastic for someone who had never wielded anything more dangerous than a kitchen knife.

That first month was hard. Many nights were spent curled up on the old, hay-stuffed bed, sobbing until she had nothing else left to give while hunger gnawed at her stomach. One hand clasped over the brand on her skin, which had healed into thick, bumpy lines - paler than her already ivory complexion. A simple brand. A circle with an ‘X’ in the middle of it. Little better than what they used to brand cattle.

But, because she was Zaria, she adapted.

She was not the first occupant in the cabin. People had lived here before. Had suffered through the same things as her. She refused to allow herself to think about what had happened to them. If they made it, or why they didn’t. Nobody ever found out what happened to any of the Chosen.

The point was that the cabin had accumulated the things of her predecessors. She dreaded thinking about what the first Chosen had to deal with. At least, for her, she had a bed - small, musty, with scratchy sheets, but a bed nonetheless. There was a dining table for one tucked in a corner. Some windows with tattered curtains. A fireplace, with all the tools to start a fire. A rudimentary kitchen, with cupboards, countertops, an iron stove, and the basic implements. There were extra blankets and old clothes in an armoire. Outside, there was a stone well with a working pulley system to haul buckets of water up from within it. Someone had also built a flimsy wood shed, and had stored some useful things in there: traps, snares, ropes, extra buckets, a bow and arrow, a rusty sword.

Zaria tried to use the bow and arrow once. But she’d sliced her finger on the string and the arrow had flopped limply on the ground a foot or two away. She decided to learn to use the traps instead.

The summer forest had been bountiful. She’d sometimes catch squirrels, or the occasional hare, in her traps. There were berries and wild plants. She’d found a book on edible plants in the armoire and had torn through it, absorbing every bit of knowledge she could.

The only problem with the forest were the things that made Chosens necessary. Fae. Monstrous beasts that would lure unsuspecting humans to their deaths, or else maul them and eat them. Creatures that rippled with unimaginable magic and power. Who took great joy in tormenting the humans. The cabin was near the wall - deliberately so, in order to lure any curious or hungry fae to the Chosen, instead of to nearby Danas. But Zaria knew so little about them. She’d never had a reason to learn, after all. Had spent her life thinking that she’d be safe behind Danas’ walls.

But in the three months she spent at that cabin, Zaria heard and saw nothing. Once in the dead of night, something had plodded along the outside of her cabin. She’d been laying in bed, spending another sleepless night staring at the ceiling with the sheets tangled at her legs when she heard it. Her heart had stopped. She’d laid as still as moonlight, straining to listen to sounds beyond the thundering hooves of her heartbeat in her ears.

Nothing had come of it. When the sun rose the next day and she dared venture outside to look, there had been no trace of anything.

Now that it was autumn, Zaria wondered if those monsters would start lurking more. Sunlight was becoming increasingly scarce. The tree leaves had all turned brown and fallen off its branches. What was once a lush, peaceful forest was now a thicket of claws reaching for the skies. Empty branches. Cold, biting winds. Death underfoot. The birds had left. Her snares stayed empty for longer. Bleak. Bleaker than she remembered any autumn could be.

The nights, too, were getting colder and colder. It used to be that she’d be able to buy logs or coal from a nearby shop to warm the house. But now she had to figure out how to chop her own wood. Zaria had put it off as long as she could - the idea of dragging that half-rusted axe through the woods, even during the day, made her stomach roil with anxiety.

But that night, she’d been piled under every single blanket she could find in the cabin, and had still shivered so hard that her jaw was sore in the morning. It was time to learn how to get her own firewood.

Zaria was up at the first crack of dawn - not that she’d gotten very much sleep at all, with chill soaked bones. After wrangling her messy, raven hair into a plain braid, she dressed warmly, digging into the armoire and fussing through the mismatched scraps of clothing in there. Not many fit her. Most were made for men and Zaria was small. About two inches shorter than the average woman, and practically only skin-and-bones. But she managed to find trousers that fit, along with woolen socks that stretched nearly up to her knees. Then, she’d thrown her old, tattered dress over top of her trousers, tying up the ribbons laced across her back. There’d been a pair of woolen, fingerless gloves, so she’d tugged that on too, before shrugging on a much-too-large cloak. The cloak, at least, she’d been able to hem so it didn’t drag on the ground. But there was little she could do about the way it swallowed her up.

General Themes:
That said, I'm not beholden to any of those little plot bunnies. To go even more general, here are some themes and genres that I love, and would also love to weave a new story together with you:

• Fantasy of any kind - high fantasy, modern fantasy, gothic/dark fantasy, you name it!
• Beasts, creatures, monsters - Beauty and the Beast themes, Hades and Persephone themes, sultry vampiric themes...I love all monsters.
• Enemies to lovers - I'm basic like that.
• Fate, destiny, soulmates.
• Fluffy, tooth-achingly sweet moments.
• Cliches. Yes! I love cliches and tropes. There's just something so comfy about them.
• Omegaverse - I've not done it before (really), but I'd be really keen to try it!

Fandom List:

• Stardew Valley
• Pokemon
• ACOTAR
• Fourth Wing
• Frieren
• Legend of Zelda (BotW/TotK)

The Note on Smut
I generally prefer a 80:20 story-to-smut ratio, but I'm not out here calculating things. The key is whatever feels most natural for the characters, and that makes the most sense. That said, I would like to focus more on story and let the smut come up naturally.

For faves and limits, see here this handy-dandy list.

That's it! I hope to hear from you! Please drop me a PM if you're interested!