Calling All Bodice Ripper Addicts! Patechou's Historical Fiction Roleplay Search

[patechou]

Current Status: Seeking 1x1 Partners Again! updated 12/22/2024

Do you like a good historical romance book after a long day? Something with an epic, sweeping plot arc and plenty of tension between the FMC and MMC? Then you’ve found the right spot.

I am Patechou. I have been a roleplayer for about 23 years now, which is a bit embarrassing to say out loud, but hello fellow former AOL chatroom users. I don’t do much roleplaying now besides the one off story here and there, but I definitely am always looking for a good partner to write entertaining stories with.

Without further ado, let’s get into the knitty-gritty bits of this setup:

• I am pretty fluid with my writing style, and while I can write novellas, I prefer a nice couple rounds of setup posts that have details and then a comfortable paragraph or two per post to keep things moving along. That doesn’t mean my quality of writing suffers, however.
• I can comfortably give at least one post per week, though this may be one post per day in some cases and even more than one per day in others. It really depends on what is happening in RL.
• I enjoy playing side characters, to give more depth to the roleplay, but would appreciate a partner who likewise uses these NPCs to further the plot.
• I don’t mind striking up a friendship in OOC, but I am not interested in OOC romance.
• I am only interested in roleplay partners who are 25+, please. Any gender. I tend to play males over females, but am happy to play either, honestly.
• I am a big fan of character development and plot in my stories, more so than smut, but I think sex scenes add to a story just like anything else. That being said, I am happy with both doing both adult and non-adult scenes, but any scenes with adult/smut themes, it will not be the major part of the story, but a scene that happens like any other in the larger scheme of the overall story.
• My O/O is here.

Favored Tropes

Enemies to lovers
Arranged/contract/fake marriages
Forced proximity
Opposites attract

Genres/Themes

Regency Era England
Colonial Americas
Dragonriders of Pern
ACOTAR
Joseon Era Korea

[patechou]

Plots

The Duke and His Ward (Regency Era) Due to a pact between their mothers, the duke became guardian of his ward when her parents passed away and she was just twelve, but his own responsibilities and lack of interest led him to place his ward in his own grandmother's capable hands. Now, eighteen and fresh from the circuit in France, his ward has returned to make her debut in London much to the duke's chagrin. But finding a suitable husband for his ward turns out to be a much taller order than expected, especially when his own hardened heart starts to defrost in her presence. Where will the Season lead them?	TAKEN The Gambler and the Fool (Regency Era) Her brother was a reckless fool who gambled away their family fortunes and eventually, their family's estate, but he hid it from his sister to save her from the heartache (or from boxing his ears rather). It was a chance encounter between the rogue who won their family's lands and herself that fueled her brother's insane plot - to put the lands back into his own hands by betting on a forced marriage. With the plot afoot, his own sister fell into the web: a public and compromising situation with the rogue himself, which forced the rogue's hand into marriage. Engaged to be wed based on a lie and a gamble, how will these two characters handle the cards they've been dealt?
The Lieutenant and the Lady (Regency Era) He was the second son of their neighbor and unable to inherit the title, but even as a young man, well-medaled for his feats in the navy campaigns. She was the skinny, unrefined thirteen year old daughter of a Baron, with a plain face and a puppy dog mentality for her neighbor's son. And then he was called away to battle, disappearing with the ship he was on during a particularly turbulent skirmish. Six years later, she is engaged to be married to the man named heir to her neighbor's titles after the death of his eldest, and all thoughts of the young man she adored in her youth have flown away with the wind. Until he shows up again, much older and with a harrowing tale, to claim his title and his life back. How will it all unfold?	To Ride or Not to Ride (DroP) Pern is in the chokehold of another Pass, after an Interval of denial and withheld tithes by the non-riding population of the continent. Every Weyr is suffering not only from lack of rations, but from massive losses in the dragon riding force and political squabbling between their own. It has been a weary year for the weyrleaders across Pern, but with the Pass comes larger clutches of eggs, a hope in the future generations of riders, and at least for Fort Weyr, a new group of candidates. With less-than-generous holders doling out potential candidates, however, riders have resorted to veritable kidnapping. Tensions are high for everyone, new and old. What will the coming turn hold for them?
Something New (Colonial) Livingstone House was a grand Georgian home built by the Livingstone family of the Livingstone trade empire, a well-to-do family who made their money in imports from Europe after settling down in the Carolinas. Years later, a tragic fire broke out at the home which claimed the lives of the children of the family. In grief, and wanting a fresh start, they moved back to Europe and abandoned their crumbling mansion and its vast lands in their wake. It’s been two years since and the people of Brook Field town notice the uptick of activity at the old Livingstone House. And shortly thereafter, a new occupant of the house is announced: a Mr. Westerly. Who is this mysterious man? What does he want with the small, sleepy town of Brook Field?	Brides to Be (Joseon) Brides from all across Joseon are brought to be chosen as the second Prince’s bride, though his position is more significant now that the Crown Prince has become sickly. Every clan wants to put forth their best beauties, reliable daughters, and accomplished maidens, but as soon as the bridal process begins, odd happenings begin to happen in the palace, and eventually murders. Someone is picking off the candidates one by one, but can they figure out who before more innocent girls are slaughtered? And what is the motive?

[patechou]

Writing Samples

Writing Sample 1

Diaphanous clouds of fog crept from the placid Thames into the bordering streets, eventually settling eerily over the opulent gardens of Vauxhall by nightfall. Glowing lanterns set in the numerous trees, coupled with the streetlamps, cast an orange radiance upon the mists, illuminating them in a darkly ethereal manner that many a pleasure-seeker would undoubtedly find gratifying. It was proclaimed by many to be the perfect night to set upon the pleasure gardens, especially if one was keen on a clandestine assignation amongst the hedge rows and ancient oaks. In fantastical array, men and women of the nobility and middle classes dressed in costume found their way via boat and coach, filling the gardens by late evening with mingling voices and laughter. Here, even the demimonde could strut amongst their upper-class superiors, though particularly in the arms of their benefactors, flirting and beguiling to sordid satisfaction.

Wolves prowled amongst colorful birds and knights supped with goddesses, as was the way with masquerades, where one could become what they desired. Feather-festooned ladies held the arms of men in shabby chainmail, and a cat was noticeably chasing a giggling mouse around a camellia bush, as others paraded down the long stretches of garden path and an orchestra played a myriad of instrumental classics, down to the waltz.

By midnight, it appeared that all the supper booths were filled with revelers in high spirits, as were the pavilions and the rotunda. High above the noise, fireworks cracked off in explosions of color and lights, their putrid smoke adding to the haze of the evening. Even as the merriment continued, couples could be seen pairing off on the various dark paths, sneaking in forbidden touches and lurid embraces, while the immovable rabble strolled down perpendicular pathways, chattering about this or that bit of hearsay.

Whitney had concluded that a masquerade was *just* the sort of event that could herald his first venture out into the Season, and even better that it should be in the seductive gardens of Vauxhall. There, more so than in the virginal ballrooms of the ton and the selective marriage market visible at Almack’s, he felt he could relax and shed the constricting mantle of his noble birthright under the guise of shadow and night. He was anxious to get his feet wet in such a way, before the onslaught of glamorous balls and teatimes grounded him in reality.

Olivia St. Aubyn, his mistress, had deigned to join him, though they had early in the night gone their separate ways. She had been drawn into a flirtation with a wealthy French Comte and his attache, and he had been intercepted by a few of his fellow members of the House of Lords in what ensued a vigorous conversation of the benefits of naturalizing Prince Leopold, the foremost being an end to Princess Charlotte’s never-ending series of romances; the better to keep their own daughters from taking homage with the princess’ strong-willed penchants. As the night wore on, and whiskey neat never failed to leave his hand, the duke began to realize that he was rip-roaringly drunk, which was a custom unlike him since at least ten years past. Control of his own person was as singular to him as his title was, and to be in lieu of control was tantamount to ruin by his own estimation.

It took some minutes to extricate himself from the men who had moved on to discussing less serious topics, and the Duke of Rutland felt an immeasurable amount of relief when he had cleared the crowds of merry makers along the garden path and fell into relative quiet that was only broken by occasionally whispered voices and giggles. His dark-crowned head felt heavy and his field of vision was turning in dizzying movements, not to mention the embarrassing lack of coordination he had as he plodded less-than-elegantly down the track. “By the gods,” he muttered under his breath, ripping away his black neckcloth and swinging into a small clearing through a thicket of trees.

Some blessed soul had thought to add white stone benches around an ornate stone fountain, which was crowned with a haphazard looking statue of Dionysus; perhaps he was as drunk and disorderly as he felt, the duke thought amusedly. Murky water flowed from the vessel Dionysus was holding, likely meant to represent a vase of wine, pooling in the circular pond below. Water spangles and lily pads dotted the rippling surface of the water, lending added whimsy to the garden’s secretive grove. All of it was lost on Whitney, besides the Greek god perched above him, as his long form fell quite ungracefully on the nearest bench. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, bracing his palms wide on the hard stone beneath him, and let his head slump back against his shoulders, breathing in the cool night air and allowing the tinkling sound of the fountain to penetrate his liquor-soaked mind.

Dressed as he was in all black, from his boots to his shirt and waistcoat, and even his missing cravat which he had dropped somewhere on the path behind him, the duke looked positively sinister in the fog-filled gloom. But then that was the point, when one came as the devil himself, complete with a demi mask sporting short black horns and hung with simple ties at the back of his head. The most ominous sort of fallen angel, gracing the garden clearing with his presence over cavorting with maidens in the discordant fete beyond. The sound of light footsteps and rustling foliage had his head drawing to the side, his dark eyes opening to focus haphazardly on the empty entryway to his personal hideaway. He had not thought anyone was following him, but his swimming thoughts could not get to the truth of it. Perhaps someone had seen him and followed? Someone meaning to do him harm or perhaps some ambitious woman meaning to ply him with her wiles? Anything could happen in the shadows of Vauxhall. “Don’t be shy,” Whitney’s hoarse voice rasped into the stillness, “Now is no time to delay. This is the edge of action.” He once more let his head loll to his shoulders, closing his eyes without consideration for whatever companion awaited him, as a smile tugged up the corners of his mouth. “Sophocles.”

Yes, the drunk Duke of Rutland was quoting Greek tragedies.

[patechou]

Updated the genres to exclude a few, as I am only feeling a couple historical periods at this time! :)

[patechou]

Updated the genres again (I'm indecisive, sorry), and updated plots to include several new ones and ones for new genres!

[patechou]

I'm still looking. :)