♥ W T Eff ☆

[Effeari]

Hello, I'm Effeari (you can call me Eff, or Flick, or Felicity...but only if I’m in trouble!). Nice to meet you.

Current Availability; Nope

Current Pacing; Absolutely drowning! 

I write in British English. I could write in American English; but why?

_{Now for the MAGIC}

☆ Real World Plots   ☆ Twisted FairyTales ☆ Fantasy Plots ☆ Historical Plots ☆

What I Want

Literacy is good, verbosity is better.

As far as I am concerned onexone role-play is a collaborative effort to write a story. Protagonists are chosen but without a certain amount of give and take on each part not much will happen. I will forgo control of my characters occasionally for the sake of plot development and story. I would rather have something amazing to read and lax control, than read something wooden and one-sided just because my character was stagnant. I will always choose plot and story over everything, we're writing a story together, the story is what's important. If my character has to take some hits or get over their ego for the sake of cohesion, that's expected. My characters aren't perfect and I'll sacrifice them in a heartbeat to make my partner's world light up.

I will play either gender, without bias. For my plots I have no specification as to who I play as it's the plots I'm most interested in exploring. More importantly I don't care whether you're man, woman or horse (how would you even type with hooves?) as long as we can have a good time. I am unbiased. Completely. I enjoy writing both men and women and gender in no way affects my enjoyment of the role play. In fact I'm pretty sure I could write as a cabbage as long as I had enough creative license. Bottom line; I enjoy writing.

I'm looking for interesting, immersive roleplays; I am very aware that 'interesting' means many different things to many different people. All I can do is tell you what it means to me and hope to find some people that are on the same wavelength;

• I like complex stories, feelings, emotions - character development is my weakness, I live for it.
• I like well-constructed and intuitive posts.
• I like surprises.
• I like posts which give me lots to work with.
• I like twists and turns.
• I like to be snatched out of my comfort zone.
• I like knowing when I've done something you love, equally something you hate, how the chemistry feels to you. I absolutely thrive on interactions with my partner. We don't have to be friends, but story-centric interactions keep my writing passion flowing.
• I like medieval and historical settings.
• I like dark and twisted themes, serial killers, evil characters, dark and twisty backstories.
• I like fantasy and magic.

Length doesn’t matter, if you’re working on a minimum paragraph count just because you’ve agreed it in advance…that’s not writing, that’s homework. Write a lot, write a little, just enjoy it.

Just...have fun. That's really what I want. Partners who are absolutely loving the story as much as I am.

Most importantly I want somebody I can get lost with, isn’t that what fantasy is about?

Because I am enormous show off, I exclusively write in forums. Please don't ask me to play anywhere else, Discord can't handle my post sizes and I have an awful obsession with keeping my inbox empty so RPs will accidentally be deleted in the name of OCD organisation. Or because I found a typo that I can't edit and correct so deleted the whole message in abject mortification..

Naughty Bits

I’m completely flexible with all adult themes; violence/abuse/sex/horror - trust me you'll shock yourselves before you shock me. And yes this a challenge many have taken up, but as of yet, nobody has proven me wrong. For specifics take a look here O/O's. I don't get grossed out by much and will venture into any taboo. I find writing about things that I don't have much experience in challenging and who doesn't like a challenge? Honestly, it doesn't really matter what I enjoy personally. I role-play, so writing from the perspective of somebody else - who am I to say what they enjoy? I'll write violence. I'll write sex. I'll write pretty much anything if I'm being honest. Exploration through the medium of words is sort of my ultimate kink.

Me
I have been writing and role-playing for a very long time. There are so many posts of mine on E by now you should easily be able to see my writing style. Go on, take a peek, I'll wait. Stalk me. ^{*Pours herself a cup of tea.*}

I have no minimum posting rules. I don't get bored of roleplays. A day, a week, a month, a year; I'll still be around.

If I'm not into it, I'll tell you. Simple as that. If you could do the same, I promise not to make a scene and I'd be ever so grateful.


As for my posting speed, it can vary a lot. Some of my partners were waiting over eighteen months for replies, which absolutely isn't the normal, but unfortunately I can't pretend like it didn't happen. I'm blessed to have very patient, lovely partners. But impatience probably isn't a compatible trait with my writing.

[Effeari]

Real World Plots

{His Pet ~ Good Old Fashioned Teacher/Student ~ T A K E N}

Being played here.

This is a story about a girl and her teacher, it’s been a long term fantasy of mine for as long as I can remember and I would love to play it to fruition. However it’s taken me a long time to decide exactly how I would best like it to play out. I think I have finally figured out the general plot and I’m hoping somebody will read it and be vastly interested. Obviously things can be changed here and there, I’m not that strict.

There is a teenager in his class, he shouldn’t notice her, it’s entirely inappropriate that he does and he knows it. It’s not like he hasn’t been teaching for years, it’s not like she’s even the prettiest student he’s seen in his time. The skirts have gotten shorter and shorter over the years of teaching at this high school and he’s long come to terms with the fact that he must stop himself noticing. Not an easy thing to do, but he’s managed to shut off. The girls are kids in his classes and he’s taught himself to believe it. Until she came along.

He isn’t even sure what it is about her, well that’s a lie.

He knows.

When she comes in and winces slightly, occasionally, when she sits down, he knows.

When she wears her hair down to cover the bruises and marks along her neck and collarbone, he knows.

When those green eyes refuse to hold his and a crimson stain blushes along her cheeks, he knows.

When she squirms in her seat when he’s berating her for not having done her homework, he knows.

When she forgets to wear panties underneath too short skirts, he knows.

When her fingers absently trace the bruises at her wrists, or the small always covered blemishes that scatter her body, he knows.

He knows because he knows every inch of her body, every inch of those bruises. Because he put them there, every, last, one.

How is it his fault? How was he supposed to resist such an untainted, insatiable little masochist? All spread out and offering herself to him, perhaps not with words but he’d known what she was before she had and it hadn’t taken much effort to show her how much he could give her. Now it was like an addiction, how on Earth was he supposed to give her up? His job was on the line, there was no way he wouldn’t be thrown in jail, perhaps just sex could be forgiven but what they did? No. He’d be locked away and never allowed out.

Pinching the bridge of his nose angrily he dismisses the class ten minutes early, nobody hesitates they all flee from the room in case he suddenly changes his mind and their early dart from school is forsaken. He remembers vaguely what it was like when ten minutes made such a difference. Of course she doesn’t flee, she takes her time and his eyes don’t leave her body as she picks up her books, slowly, and then sashays passed him, swaying her hips in that way that damn near hypnotises him. He doesn’t even think it’s intentional, but it works and his eyes follow her out, then he groans and she laughs because he’s seen what she wanted him to.

The ghost of a still red handprint poking out from the beneath the hem of the pleated, tartan fabric.

It doesn’t matter that she’s gone now, he’ll see her again, after all she’s lived next door to him for years.

It really is the most ridiculously unfortunate situation.

And he thinks he might flog her tonight for utterly destroying his ability to think about anything else.



Other Bits

I would like to kick this off at the very beginning, a blossoming relationship between student and teacher, neighbour and neighbour. The heavy emphasis on her masochism is important, as is his sadism. It’s not a healthy, romantic affair, it’s a filthy, consensual mess which from the outside would look abusive as Hell.

That said I imagine feelings will develop and I don’t want the entire emphasis to be on BDSM. It will be incorporated of course, heavily, however there will also be a plot blossoming to. Dangerous, dangerous plot. I want it to be realistic and as gritty as you can manage.

Mainly I don’t just want this to be an outlet, if you want a one shot between a teacher and a student then that’s fine, go and find one. But this I want to be as much about their character’s development both together and apart, relationship growth, change and a deep insight into in depth and well thought out characters.

As well as a hell of a lot of we-shouldn’t-be-doing-this sex!

{Sins of the Father ~ Forbidden relationship, Sado/Masochist}

He swallowed thickly, the heavy door had been locked and bolted but it didn’t seem like enough space between him and the outside world. He buried his face in his hands, fingers sliding through his hair. He was trembling even now. From fear? Or something more unholy? He couldn’t control his breathing, he wasn’t getting enough air. His fingers moved down his throat and lingered at the white collar. No. He had done enough to belittle his position today. His hands balled into fists and he forced them to his sides.

He took a long, shaky breath.

What had he done?

The panic rose again, he couldn’t think about it, couldn’t succumb.

He eyes scanned the empty church.

His church.

Normally during a crisis like this he would fall to his knees, pray, the calmness of God would wash over him and he would know that everything would be okay.

But this? How could He forgive this?

Dark eyes fell on the confessional booth at the other side and he all but ran across the enormous room, picking his way through the pews with a practiced ease. But he did not enter through his usual door. One where he would sit and grant absolution for the desperate masses. Where he would commune, and give them the tools to achieve divine harmony once more.

No, today he used the other door. It closed behind him and he dropped onto the bench.

His hand still stung, he turned it over and stared at the reddened flesh.

Smack.

The sound of his hand against her flesh, echoing through the empty church, it played in his memory over and over. His handprint on the smooth, supple curve of her bottom. If his hand was hurting, how must her ass be feeling? The thrill of desire which pulsed through him almost made a sob escape his lips.

What had he been thinking?

Her face in his memory plagued him, even now. Why? Why had he succumbed? It had been a long battle already. The teenager was troubled but sweet and innocent. And she didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to be his temptation.

A moment of weakness, a moment where he had let his old life bleed through to his new one.

He pulled his knees up against his chest, resting his clasped hands atop them, the cross at his neck clutched between them. His teeth grazed his thumb, wet tears down his cheeks. Her family needed him, he was supposed to support them through this time of crisis, support her. He had betrayed them all.

“Forgive me” he begged softly into the darkness, half crying “please.”



<sup>The forbidden love story between a teenage girl (17/18) and her families handsome young priest. That’s entirely normal…right?

The Priest
He has a dark story all his own. Some hidden, sadistic past that he ran from. Be it BDSM or something darker. His life span so out of control, and scared him enough that he turned to the church. To God. And it's helped, he's become a pillar of society, loved in his town. Respected and trusted in spite of his relatively young age - I'm thinking in his thirties, maybe early fourties. But there's something about her which ignites parts of him that he's long suppressed. Desires which challenge his celibacy, his vows, she leaves him questioning everything. Inflicting pain which he usually uses to drive people away, for their own safety, and his sanity. Unfortunately it#s not going to work on her.

The Girl
She's not submissive by nature, it's not domination she wants. It's pain. Nobody really understands that; she thinks she's a freak. She's a gorgeous young woman but her life is missing something. Gearing up for college, for adulthood, but she still hasn't found herself. Her friends know what they want, but she meanders through life without much purpose. She isn't depressed, but she cuts, hurts herself and is considered 'troubled' by people who don't understand. It's not life she's trying to get away from, she isn't sad or suicidal, it's just that nothing else quite gets her off - but how is she supposed to explain that to her staunchly catholic parents? Then he shows her what she's missing, and then all she can think about is more.

(These are my interpretations of the characters so that you can see who I would play in each role, you're more than welcome to have an entirely new take on whichever role you choose.)

I’m thinking this story will be a descent into madness. Not real madness, but a perfect trinity of him, her, and pain. They become blinded to anything else. They know it’s wrong. But, well, neither of them has the strength to walk away. There's this bubble of need, of lust, of love.

I do want it to be a love story, I'm a sucker for romance and true love - even if true love looks different on different people. Their emotions, well, I want them to be raw. And powerful.

I'm thinking it starts simple. Secrecy is paramount. Spankings instead of hail mary's, her going out of her way to have more and more things to confess in the desperate, driven need to have him hurt her. Then as it becomes more sexual, more impossible to resist, they're more and more drawn to each other. Sneaking conversations during church picnics. I want it to span a long time, years. Their entire relationship would look toxic, unhealthy, dangerous - to anybody but them. Even to them. But they can't stop. Can't walk away.

And I want the smut to be primal. None of this shackles and calm, planned stuff. They’re not thinking enough for that. At least no time soon.

I’m also happy to play either role. With a slight preference towards the female part.</sup>

{Deadspeak ~ Fantasy/Paranormal}

Growing up Hannah Mathias wasn’t one of those ‘normal’ people, the people that everybody is shocked when something abnormal happens. You know the ones, the ‘perfect daughters, devoted friends, loving girlfriends’, it’s never weird people that get horribly massacred. Nobody would have been particularly surprised if Hannah had pulled a machete out in class one day, nobody would have been surprised if she suddenly dropped off the face of the Earth. It wasn’t that she was a bad person, or that she was unpopular; it was simply that they heard the name Hannah Mathias they wouldn’t have been astounded by any titbit of information that followed. The girl was an utter mystery.

She's grown a lot since high school, changed, accepted that she's not quite normal. Working as a freelance journalist she's a bit of an adrenaline junky. A lot of a tomboy. She tries to keep herself to herself, ridiculously intelligent she's learnt that the easiest way to get through life is to not let anybody get to close to her. That way they can't figure out just how weird she is. [/i]. She's never had a best friend, her parents died when she was little, mother murdered in their own home and her father took his life the year later unable to live with it. Boyfriends were things that happened to other people.

You see, ever since he could remember, Hannah could talk to dead people. And for understandable reasons it was a secret she had always kept. At first she’d held out hopes that it was some rare strain of schizophrenia, but as he got older and the voices got more insistent she lost all hope that she might just be crazy. Life didn’t end at death and minds continues to think, talk, live beyond the end. Hannah could hear them all inside her head, like some sort of cruel curse. What was worse is that the dead seemed to want to speak to her, in fact they never stopped. It was getting harder and harder not to answer them.

If that was the weirdest her life got, she would be fine. But there are new threats growing, threats that might leave her needing the help of those who had come before.



Want to Play?

There are lots of ways this could play out. The other character could be an agent from the government sent to seek out paranormal people? It could be another occult creature – perhaps even something dangerous (vampire/werewolf/witch). I’m thinking lots of dark, twisty fantasy stuff! Or it could be a more covert, clinical secret-agency type game. Modern, historical, futuristic? You could even be a dead person, trying to live out a love affair with a girl you could never touch.

Kink wise Hannah will almost definitely start the roleplay a virgin. She's never let anybody get close. I can envision her into some pretty dark stuff if you're up for that. Blood play, masochism, sadism. I'll happily play her as Dom or Sub. I'd just really like to play this out!


This idea is almost entirely plagiarised from the genius Brian Lumley. You don’t have to have read the book at all or have any knowledge to play this, I’ve plucked the ideas I’ve wanted from the book and have no desire to run it even close to canon. But these were my bedtime stories as a kid. Sparkly vampires, pfft, meet the Wamphyri.

{Flashes ~ Slice of Life/Modern/Celebrity/Affair}

Plot
He has one of the most famous faces in the world. Hers is getting there. They’re two of the hottest celebrities of the moment. She’s making a reputation for herself as the British sweet, girl next door type actress. He is one half of the richest power couple in America.

If the world found out they were carrying on behind closed doors, snatching moments between paparazzi snaps, fucking every single chance they get…well…it would be front page news and their entire careers would come crashing down around their ears.

They both know this. They should stop. But they can’t.

Things You Need To Know;

I see this playing out as a very secretive affair, the two are thrust together quickly, and demands are placed on them with regards to chemistry and ratings. Perhaps even a social media flirtation to drum up publicity – obviously it all goes far to far and they find themselves unable to keep their hands off each other.

This could be a lot of fun. Fucking in limos. Back of clubs. Upskirt in the middle of a dancefloor with nobody be any the wiser. Seconds before the get called up for awards at shows. Basically, so obsessed with each other they can’t keep their pants on. And of course,…what would a celebrity RP be without a sex tape.

So if you fancy delving into the lifestyles of the rich and the famous, hit me up!

[Effeari]

Fantasy Story Ideas

Currently I have no fantasy plots going on and I really, really want some!

{The Desires of Dragons ~ High Fantasy/Adultery/Love-Triangle}

<sup>“I miss you,” she breathed as she grasped his hands in the darkness. Harry met the eyes of his Queen and pulled her close to him. In spite of his ragged breathing, the shock of her arriving in his room so late, he couldn’t begrudge her the comfort she obviously longed for. Pulling back for a moment he placed a hand on the swell of her stomach, the baby beneath her nightgown kicking strongly.

“I’m right here.” He promised, leaning forward and kissing her quickly. Though he couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease. Her almost white hair making her skin seem all the paler in the ghostly moonlight which shone through the window.

“You know what I mean,” she dropped her gaze. A woman who was in charge of a Kingdom. Powerful in her own right, was in his room and unsure. It had been months since he had shared her bed. Months since he had taken her in his arms. He was trembling, the unexpected intrusion had flooded his body with adrenaline. He doubted that she noticed. Not his Anne. She remained, as ever, the picture of innocence. Of goodness. Hooking a hand under her chin he brought her face up, eyes seeking hers.

“I do. It won’t be long now and our son will be born. Everything will go back to normal.”

“I hate it,” she sighed, “being locked away. I know that it’s for the best, that it’s for our son. But I miss you. I miss this.” A tear fell down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb.

“I miss you too,” he breathed, the desire in his voice palpable. His entire body was taut with arousal. He was sure that she would notice. Would she think less of him? As she sat on his bed carefully, great with child, with his thoughts so filled with sin? His heart was beating faster than it ever had. The sweat on his skin catching the cool night air and biting at his feverishly hot skin. “But you cannot be here. People will talk.”

“You’re my husband. Let them talk. What will they say?” Though the way she dropped her eyes again he could tell that she was conflicted.

“If anything happens to our baby, to our heir, they’ll blame us. This is forbidden, us seeing each other like this.” He broke from her gaze guiltily, “you need to go. Before you’re caught.” He felt awful when she nodded sadly, but his thoughts were too dangerous. This was too dangerous.

“I love you.” She promised, her eyes on him, beseechingly. He nodded, pressing his lips to hers again. The sheet fell a little further from his naked chest and feared that she would discover his arousal. He shifted, willing his erection to soften. Unfortunately, the entire situation seemed to be working against him. Terrified as he was, shamed, his body was insistent. Driven to the edge of desperation. Clinging to the last vestiges of his rationality, he managed to restrain himself from pulling the thin material away from her swollen breasts. From pressing her back against the sheets and sating himself with her body as he had become so used to. Her shoulders drooped a little before she stood, drawing her cloak around her tightly she walked to the door. Giving him a last look before saying goodbye and leaving.

It was a second. Less than a second, before the ethereal creature stepped from the shadows at the foot of the bed. She didn’t stop, crawling onto the bed and up towards him. His manhood throbbed painfully.

“We can’t, she might come back!” He whispered, pointing to the door. But the dark eyes that were fixed on him were full of amusement. He watched the way the moonlight danced over her bare skin, her breasts swaying, nipples hard in the cold of the room. Harry loved his wife. He did. But how was he supposed to resist her? She was so singularly determined to ruin him. There was no hesitation as she pulled the thin blankets from him, once again he was bared before her. He watched her smirk as she ran a hot tongue up his length and he hissed in a breath. His eyes lingered apprehensively on the door. But this time he gave no protest. As her mouth closed around him, a moan escaped his lips. As did the last vestiges of dissent. The King fell against the bed as she worked him. He didn’t sit up again until her mouth left him and even then, it was only in desperate protest.

It was short lived, she crawled over him, straddling him. His eyes fell to that dark dusting of hair between her legs and he swallowed thickly. As she lowered herself onto him, his hands moved up the taut, flat skin of her stomach and gripped her breasts tightly. Kneading them as she began moving her hips.

Her dark eyes remained on his.

She moved frustratingly slowly.

With a growl and a final show of strength he moved his hands behind her and flipped their positions. Pinning her to the royal bed with his hands. Spearing her with his cock. His teeth grazed her lips, her jaw, her neck. She arched against him, moaning. There was no thought given to whether they would be heard. Nothing existed outside of this room. Not anymore. Come what may, nothing would prise him from her, not until his passion was sated.

As he thrust into her, brutally, she moaned and writhed beneath him. He was deliberately grinding against her with each and every thrust. If he was to surrender, then so was she. He felt the moment her orgasm claimed her, felt her clench around him. The last of his resolve disappeared and he submitted. With a final groan he filled her, pushing as deeply inside her as he could.

Only when he was done did he pull out and collapse on the bed next to her, panting.

“You’re going to cost me my head one of these days,” he panted. A hand over his eyes. He was still shaking. They had come so close to getting caught.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” She tittered coyly, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on her elbow. He drank in the sight of her. Laying there without a stitch on. There was no shame in her, she was as brazen and confident as the day he’d met her. Even now as he was still recovering from his orgasm, his softening cock stirred again. What did she do to him? Why couldn’t he get enough of her?

King’s took mistresses. It was just the way of things. “Anybody would think I forced you.” Those long fingers of hers ran up his leg, close to where his manhood lay against his leg. Softening but still swollen. She watched it twitch and a triumphant smirk crossed her lips. “Kings have mistresses. People expect it.”

“You’re not my mistress Amelia.” He breathed, catching her delicate wrist easily between his fingers. He sat up, pushing her onto her back as he pushed her onto the bed. With a hand beneath her knee he spread her legs. His eyes on her sex, watching the result of their spent passion slip from her. He slid a finger along her, catching it. His eyes met hers. She was watching him. It was her turn to catch his hand, she sat up and brought his finger to her lips. Sucking it greedily.

Tasting their passion.

Harry groaned.

He wasn’t even fully hard when he pressed against her, pushing inside her. His insatiable need for her transcending what his body was ready for. A hand moved behind her, a fist gripping her hair and pulling back on it painfully. He couldn’t refuse her if he tried. “What do you do to me?” He growled against her throat.

“Something my sister never could.” She sighed, he could feel himself growing inside of her. She pushed him backwards, following as he rocked onto his knees, back on his lap. Riding him as the pressed against each other.

Yes, Kings had mistresses. But they usually weren’t their Queen’s twin. And they certainly weren’t the Kingdom’s Dragon Priestess, a woman who was pledged to chastity. If anybody found out they would be ruined. But this? This was an irresistible kind of magic.</sup>

{Sizaan Brii ~ Super High Fantasy/Dragons/Magic}

Legends have long been whispered of Tey’doMoro, the name has haunted bedtime stories, campfires and taverns a like. Though the story invariably changes the most common form of the legend is this ballad sung the land over;

Long ago, when Dragon’s plagued the sky,
There so lived a Lizard Queen who reigned on high.
So differed from the rest, spilling song instead of fire,
Her fate was planned to seal upon a dragon’s treasonous pyre.

So learning of her doom, this dragon she did flee,
To fling herself upon man and beg them of their mercy.
With mourning and deception this dragon they did curse,
Trapping her within their realm, her power they dispersed.

And so the woeful tale ends,
Betrayed by both Dragons and men.
The Queen doth hide somewhere still,
Waiting agelessly for her master’s trill.

There is but a grain of truth remaining in the fantastical ballad, as there is with most things. The original story has withered to nothing but the dragon’s name and fate were not entirely imagined. I’m about to tell you the old version, though not quite as beautifully tragic, it has the benefit of being true.

It is true that there were once dragons, and as a result there were of course female dragons. Though never, to my knowledge, a Queen. All dragons were equal and none would allow pride to bow to anything but strength, as such they were not a species that would gladly adapt to the notion of having betters. Female dragons were somewhat rarer than males, but were by no means rare enough to make any of them special. As for their voice, it was every bit as devastatingly powerful as their male counterparts. As was their bloodthirsty and terrible nature.

According to The Dragon War, around the Merethic Era, Dragons considered themselves superior to man. For dragons, power equaled truth. They held immense power, so therefore they believed this to be the ultimate truth, and thus they ruled over man.

Dragons granted small amounts of power to the dragon priests in exchange for absolute obedience. In turn, the dragon priests ruled men as equals to the kings. The dragon priests demanded tribute and set down laws and codes of living that kept peace between Dragons and men.

One such Dragon Priest, was not content to simply worship his dragon however and the more power and respect she showed him the more he wanted. It wasn’t unusual for dragon’s to favour particular priests, it was however extremely rare for dragons to provide leniency such as she did. Granting him both respect and what some believed to be affection, the majestic beast and her human shared a connection that no Dragon Priest had seen before. As is the nature of man though, it was not enough and he sought more. The power festered within him and bred deception and so before long he was searching to betray the founder of his wealth and position. Unbeknownst to Tey’doMoro he was working to find a way to bind her to him even more fully, to strip her of her power and tie the creature to his whim in a way no Dragon would dream of.

It took great pains but he created a spell, a spell so powerful it took him years to forge. The spell had one purpose, to strip Tey’doMoro of her wings and tether the Dovah within a mortal shell. Then he planned to marry her, thus he would gain control over the dragon. The ultimate prize for him, the ultimate prison for her and the ultimate betrayal of a Dragon Priest that would permanently affect Dragon and Priest relations the land over.

Unfortunately the spell was entirely unpredictable and though it worked, it also proved to be volatile and consumed him in the same moment that the powerful Dovah was stripped of her wings and trapped in the body of a mortal.

Alone and trapped, she sought help from her kin but they could do little. Dragons have no magic to wield save that in their voices, and though they sympathised and avenged her upon men in yet another spike to the endless war, her fate remained the same. She was trapped, an ageless dragon in the withering body of a mortal being. The body would continuously die around her, kept alive by the curse alone but in no way strong enough to house a Dragon’s immense consciousness. The only way the body could remain healthy was through the magic of the Dragon Priest’s followers, who quickly shifted their allegiance to their new ‘Goddess’.

As the centuries passed so their numbers started to dwindle, their grasp on the magic’s that sustained her were slipping and she knew that the fortress which she had been sealed in for centuries needed to be broken. Since the death of her last dragon brother, she had remained within the bosom of a mountain. Untouched by the outside world. It had been a long time since her last servant died and for the last hundred years she had remained within a rotting tomb of a body, agonised and near crazed by the pain; until a travelling mage stumbled into the cave and cured her. The brush with her eternal fate had emphasised what she already knew, she needed to find a way to break the curse. In this body she could never die and having lived for so long, denied her rightful form, she had quite lost the will to live any longer. Quickly securing the loyalty of the mage, Tey’doMoro escaped the tomb where she had festered for ages.

She would be revenged upon men; but first she needed to find her wings.

{Yes, Master ~ Genie/High Fantasy}

^{An concept from a roleplay with the fantastic Chronoclasm that I would like to explore.}

She had been floating somewhere high in the constellations when she felt that long-forgotten pull. The feel of consciousness being pooled, given form, trapped once more. She could be everywhere and anywhere, yet nowhere and nothing all at the same time. She was thoughts, magic, notions, impressions; yet she was also a vast array of un-together. Until she was given form, but it had been so long, so very long that she was quite sure her being was being pulled from every corner of the universe. Had she really spread so far? How long had it been? There was no concept of time within her, no notion nor interest in it passing. Until she was required, and then it was like who she was, who she had been, all flooded together in a rush.

Questions, they were the first things to solidify in her mind.

So many questions.

A curse, and such an effective one, she was everything, powerful, immortal, omnipotent – but without a master she was scattered and impotent. The being had watched entire galaxies be born, unable to do anything but observe and wait. Gradually her thoughts disintegrated, filtered out and became the barest hints of knowing. Existing. It had been so long.

The longer it was the harder it was to shift back. But the pull was becoming more insistent now, more demanding, nausea came next. For there was no body she possessed and yet she felt like she might just throw up. She was spinning, which was also ludicrous because she couldn’t spin. She couldn’t see. There was no grounding. Disorientated panic often followed the nausea. Where was she? How could she stop spinning if she had no feet? How would she find herself with no eyes?

So many questions.

All the power; none of the answers.

Then there was pressure, almost overwhelming, crushing pressure. Nobody could feel this kind of pain and survive, she wanted to scream but she had no voice with which to do it. Instead all she could do was hope that it would end, even that hope was swallowed up by the searing agony.

And then she was seeing, and it was over, she was looking through eyes and suddenly in a flood it was like she had never been anywhere else other than in this body. A dream that she had awoken from, memories on the cusp on consciousness, absorbed by her being but intangible and fading rapidly. She stood still, blinked and took in the surroundings.

The room was filthy, and cold, which brought her attention to the fact that she was wearing nothing, pale skin bare in the freezing climate. Surely, she had been wearing clothes? Even as she thought it, the air shimmered around her and starting from multiple point the almost white skin was being hidden away behind a corseted, long, black dress. The shimmer to it made it look like it was made from spider-webs, weaved intricately around her body and she supposed there was a weaving to the spell. Webs of infinite magic which she possessed.

Oh that’s right, she had power. Remembering this made her smirk wickedly as she took in the appearance of the being, clutching, was that a lamp?

Oh.

Right.

The lamp.

As the gaps began to fill in so the smirk faded to a disdainful glower, so there was another master now, another person to pander to and preen for. Somebody to control her, when she knew all too well that she should be the master. She could raze this entire universe to its knees without breaking a sweat. Ultimate power, but absolutely no free will with which to use it. Worse that in a millennium of this existence she had never once had a master with ambition, her only fun came from the insanity her presence could reap. Luring her masters towards their end so that she might taste freedom. Except even now the very real memories of her freedom were fading, the reality, drawbacks, of being everything and nothing, now nagging doubts that were surrendering to her very natural desire to be free of this master also stifled by the overwhelming need to obey.

A frown though, there was something different about this one. He certainly didn’t look like he possessed power however, sitting in a dusty room, nursing an old oil-lamp. So, it was a lamp in this world? Last time it had been a, she frowned, the memories were fading too quickly. She gave up trying to chase them. It didn’t matter, the lamp was inconsequential now, she was tethered to her master and her master alone. With a tilt of her head the once extinguished light took flame, a rather bright unnatural flame and she smiled predatorily.

The silence had stretched between them for a long time. Her eyes searched his, trying to find the measure of him, trying to work him out. First impressions were oh so important. It was a drawback of the curse, or perhaps a safety feature, she could bend the minds of most, wiggle around inside, learn everything she might want to.

Except that of her master.

His mind, head, thoughts would remain locked to her. As would the rest of the worlds until he ordered her otherwise. For free-will was a thing that was exercised from her mouth and her thoughts but never her actions. So with no other choice she bowed her head gently, tipped her face downwards and looked upwards at him with a narrowed come-hither stare.

Plump red lips parting in a slow almost teasing manner before the melodious tone of her voice spilled out.

“Master.”



Simple enough concept, I want to play a powerful, wilful being with the entire universe at her fingertips, predisposed to unwilling servitude to whatever character you have in mind. In my ideal world they'll fall in love, treat the boundaries of what is possible between their species, potentially even blur the lines between human and god (after all obedience and love are very different things). There's none of this finite wishes bullshitery in this world, simply unwavering obedience until your character shifts from their mortal coil.

{The Reaping ~ Fantasy/Humour}

^{A concept from a roleplay with the amazingly lovely and talented Geraint that I would like to re-explore.}

It was a difficult cross to bear, being unwanted.

A girl could get a complex really, people fleeing, crying, sobbing at her arrival.

There were plenty of people that claimed they were unpopular. In her experience they had it easy. She listened occasionally, she wasn't a monster. When she had the time and the morbid mood took her. Many would lament the trials and tribulations of mortality, the woes, trials and tribulations of being detested and her reaction was always the same. Always. An eye-roll followed by a heavy sigh, they had no idea what they were talking about. Really if mortals ever gained a sense of perspective during their lives then they would probably drink themselves silly until it went away.

If anybody got the right to complain about being unwanted then by the Gods it was her. Even the ones that should be expecting her, the ones that courted her attention like lovers, changed their minds quickly enough once their translucent eyes fell upon her image.

She was beginning to believe she smelt.

“Look. I know, this is completely unexpected, it’s a shock, out of the blue, anybody would struggle.” She soothed as her ethereally long fingers tugged at the noose around a horribly distorted neck. She urged the rather ashen man onto the seat that only minutes before he had kicked away in a last ditch attempt to end ‘the misery’. Unfortunately the disembodied vision fell through the chair, and the floor, she bit her lip. By the time she caught up with him again he was floating between the cellar and the dirt, only the top half of his ghostly torso was visible. “That can happen sometimes. I should have warned you.”

“But why,” a sob, “why me?”

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she brushed the red velvet hood back from her face and smiled. Or at least it was an attempt at a smile, she wasn’t predisposed to comforting gestures, it clearly didn’t do much to comfort him as his eyes widened in terror. It was the eyes; she always forgot about the eyes, the golden orbs glowed, pupils in the shape of hour glasses, a gaze which penetrated time, space and souls. She shifted her weight slightly. He flinched.

Maybe it was the scythe that put people off?

“I think it could have been the noose that did it. Maybe if you weren’t so good at tying knots?” She offered gently.

“I knew being a boy scout would come back to haunt me.”

“There, there. You couldn’t known,” she sighed rather despondently, this was going to be a long one. Just once it would be nice to be able to talk about herself. Not one person had ever as much asked. Did she want to spend her evening listening to the grim complaints of the recently dead? Had she had a pleasant day? Did she particularly like her job? No, it was all 'i'm not ready', 'I'm scared', 'aren't you supposed to be a guy? I'm not getting reaped by a woman.'

Was a tiny bit of interest so much to ask? Basic politeness.

Why yes, thank you, the robe is new. Do you like it? Black has just been done to death. Golden eyes snapped up as she realised he was speaking again and she felt the pang of regret pulling at her. It wasn’t his fault that she was bored, and it really was the only death he was going to get, she reminded herself to make a little more of an effort. After all, she couldn't afford another bad review.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing black?” He looked her up and down, as if seeing her for the first time. Her eyes narrowed.

Then again, her empathy only stretched so far. Sweeping the large crimson hood back over her blonde curls, her ethereally long, slender, near skeletal fingers wrapped around the smooth wood of her scythe before she bit her lip. Just for a second she wondered what would happen if she let him mope a bit longer, she could sit here, waste the night, polish her scythe. Nobody liked a dull blade. Surely everybody deserved a night off once in a while and it had been a good long while since she’d gotten one. No, she had a list as long as her arm to make her way through tonight and it would just mean she was working overtime tomorrow.

No rest for the wicked.

A noise no louder than a sigh and less than a blink of time later she was sitting on the bank of a river, long, slender legs stretched along the grassy knolls beneath the shimmering sunshine. The sound of rushing water was a welcome change, broken only by gasps and frantic splashes. Blades of grass tickled the undersides of her legs and she found she quite liked the sensation, touch was something she had little experience with.

“You know, you could have helped instead of just watched.” A voice spluttered from a feet away, down the back. She smiled but her face was unseen behind the hood. Normally she would have come up with something witty to say, but the sunshine was making her lethargic and she was short of time. Always short of time, there was probably a joke buried in there somewhere. Instead of verbalising her inner debate, she simply wiggled her scythe and watched his eyes widened.

“You…you…you’re…”

Maybe she should start handing out welcome packs, it would certainly save time. Holding out a hand in a universal, feminine gesture that he should help her up, the young man hesitantly held out his own. Less than a second later she was alone on the bank, really, using chivalry as trickery was below the belt even for her. Hopefully he would get over it. With a heavy sigh she pulled herself up to her feet and produced a long scroll from within the volumes of her robe.

She checked her list and groaned, from the bright sunshine to a morbid cemetery. Grim.



Who doesn't want a bit of fun with death? If this inspires you, shoot me a message and we'll plan something!

{The Gateway to Heaven ~ Satan's Love Story}

The Gateway



^{Full disclosure; I’m turning this world into a novel, so I have very deep lore for this that we probably won’t need to go into. I also have a very specific end-game. However, I’d love to take my character on a test drive first to work out the kinks! This story won’t be that story, it will be our own, so I’d like to work out the specifics together, otherwise I might as well stop procrastinating and get writing! (Ugh…I probably should.)}

She’s been told the stories since she was small, that her blood is The Gateway between Heaven and Hell. Her crazy old grandmother has books and tomes aplenty, stories linking their family all the way back to biblical times. It’s a pretty story, but of course, as she grew up, she knew it for what it was. Legends. After all, God isn’t real. The apocalypse might happen, but it’s man-made catastrophe rather than anything divine. Far from anything to do with her.

Then, the night after her grandmother’s funeral, the body is attacked and she’s almost murdered. Trapped, terrified, and who should show up to save her?

Lucifer.

That Lucifer.

I mean, there’s no hellfire, or horns; just a ridiculously powerful, absolutely gorgeous crazy man telling her that he’s a fallen angel and needs her help to save the world. She’s his gateway into Heaven, she’s the only one who can help him stop the apocalypse. See God’s idea of paradise is the absence of free will, he wants to remake the world and create harmony - ridding everybody of their own minds and autonomy. Lucifer wants to stop that, he likes disharmony, he likes humans.

She’s not sure which side of the fence she falls. She knows not to trust the Devil; she’s learnt that much from her Grandma.

Strangely as she spends more time with Lucifer, so she begins to change; latent magic awakening within her.

Alas, in spite of her better judgement (and as it goes, Lucifer’s) the two fall in love. As tends to be the way with best laid plans...everything goes a bit to Hell. Lucifer is no longer prepared to let her sacrifice herself to let him cross into Heaven. The world is slowly attacked and overrun by Angels who are indoctrinating humanity and smiting non-believers, rounding up people like cattle.

It’s a bit of a biblical mess, all told.

Fire, brimstone and red-hot-sex with the devil himself, who might actually not be the bad guy after all.

Or might be...who knows?

You never can tell with Satan.

I want to have lots of fun with this plot.

I think as it starts it’s mostly dreams, with flashes of him manifesting outside that even she’s not sure of. Then as their connection gets stronger he strides the gap to our world with more ease?

Eventually I see her falling pregnant with Lucifer’s baby and birthing the anti-Christ. Perhaps that was fate’s plan all along. Perhaps she dies in childbirth, or is killed, and finds herself plunged down into the dominion of her lover. A traipse through Hell hoping that Lucifer does actually love her after all. Maybe a Mistress of Hell vibe afterwards...save the universe, etc. Who knows where it could go or how it ends?

[Effeari]

Twisted Fairy Tale Plots

^{I've written these plots with traditional gender roles, but I'm all up for swapping it up. Want me to play a female wolf opposite a male red-riding hood? I'm in. A femme beast? I am so, so up for gender-swapping roles!}

☆Beauty and the Beast☆

Beastiality(?), BDSM

Belle is the most beautiful girl in her small town, and not only does she know it but so does every single man and woman in town. Manipulative, cunning and gorgeous it’s near impossible that she doesn’t get exactly what and who she wants. Every single man in the village falls over themselves to win her over, as well as a few of the not-so-single men. Much to the horror of their wives. Belle, at the tender age of nineteen, is quickly earning herself quite the reputation.

Her poor father, who since the death of her mother has done everything he can to keep his daughter in check, is fast running out of ways to stop the teenager destroying her own (and his by proxy) reputation. It’s only a matter of time before they’re shamed away from their home and his entire career as a genius inventor goes up in smoke.

Having stumbled home late one night to find the village hero, Gaston, alone and rather inebriated with a very scantily-clad Belle he realised he needed to take drastic measures. Seeking out an old crone in the woods, rumoured to be a witch, he got lost en route and ended up at the gates of an enchanted castle. Upon entering and taking shelter from the vicious outside snow-storm, he was almost slaughtered by the Beast.

However, upon explaining why he was there he caught the Beast’s attention. They struck an accord in which Belle would come to the castle, the Beast lacked company and the girl could hardly get herself into trouble in the presence of a monster. There was nought else but woods and enchanted servants. Reluctantly and desperate, and quite frankly hoping it would scare his daughter into some form of decency, the inventor agreed.

Within a week he tricked Belle to the castle and left her there claiming it was for her own good. Trapped; a prisoner of both her father’s desperation and a well-played trick by a far too clever Beast. You see, there was only one way to break the curse and it happened to be the sacrifice of a girl on the eve of her twenty-first birthday.

Belle realises that all the cunning and beauty in the world might not get her out of this mess.

(I actually turned this one into a novel!)

The alternate idea I had;

Belle is hard work, everybody knows it. She does what she wants, when she wants, the men in her small village fall over themselves to please her. She's a disgrace, a harlot and her father is desperately ashamed of her. He wants a chance at love, to remarry, but nobody will even look at him whilst his daughter is around. Everybody whispers about her, the fact that she's too beautiful, that it must be witchcraft. He has two other daughters too, daughters which are overlooked because of Belle. He decides, to do whatever he can, to pull his family out from underneath scandal.

As coincidence would have it, the next week, a traveller arrives in town with a request, which is spread far and wide through the country. A distant King is looking for a bride and is willing to pay handsomely to the family of the chosen women. Though he warns her not to, despite his better judgement, Belle's vanity has her apply, and of course, win.

As she bids goodbye to her now incredibly-wealthy father and sisters, she sets off to become Queen of some forgotten and distant land.
Little does she know what she's in for. Then again, neither does the cursed Beastly King who's awaiting his young, beautiful sacrifice.

So, I sort of had to delve into the bestiality line with this one! It’s beauty and the beast, and I’ve had a weird, confusing beast-crush since I was about eight. (Slightly more socially acceptable than the crush I had on Farthing Wood’s Fox…hey, I never claimed to be normal!) I get that it’s a line some people can’t cross, but even if we avoid the out and out sex, I desperately want to tackle this angle! Whether or not it’s the Beast who’s Dom, I haven’t decided.

☆Red Riding Hood☆

Crimson Leaves



Whilst travelling to visit her grandmother on the other side of the country, imagine Evelyn's shock when she wakes up in the middle of the night tied and bound and being carried into the town centre in her nightgown. The moon is full above, the sky clear and stars sparkling. Every month, once a month, the townsfolk choose a virgin to be sacrificed to the wolves. As the sun sets, Evelyn begs them to free her, pleads for them not to let the wolves take her. But they leave her out in the woods anyway. A sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.

Only Evelyn isn't quite as helpless as she seems. The teenager is actually a fledgling witch. Vowing her revenge upon the town, she makes her home in the woods. Freeing the women they sacrifice and helping them escape. So far the wolves have given her a wide birth, but month by month, as they get hungrier, she's expecting a war.

It would be a terrible shame should she end up falling for the Big Bad Wolf.

☆Sleeping Beauty☆

What if you could make money whilst you slept? If you’re pretty, young, female and open-minded then all you have to do is apply to Aurora Dreams and you can earn a ridiculous amount of money simply for sleeping. What could be better?

Nobody really knows what goes on at Aurora Dreams, nobody really speaks about it. The women who had worked their claim it’s legit, safe and all leave raving about the place. It’s very hush hush for something that’s advertised everywhere. Still, Megan is desperate. A college student who’s trying her best to work her way through school falls in with the wrong crowd. Fleeing an abusive boyfriend who’s sidelined in her into financial ruin, she’s at risk of losing her scholarship and the roof over her head. With debt collectors threatening her at every turn, her two jobs waiting tables are ruining her grades and concentration. When somebody breaks into her apartment and threatens to hurt her if she can’t get him two grand by the next day…it looks as if her entire life might derail.

Then she sees the advert. She heads to Aurora Dreams with swollen eyes, mascara still smudged from crying. There’s no second interview and she’s given a trial for that night. Five thousand dollars and if she doesn’t like it, then she can just walk away. Not only will that save her ass from the loan shark, it would pay off a good chunk of the debt. She knows there’s probably a catch, but she’s desperate. Besides, there’s no contract and if she hates it she can walk away five grand richer and no strings.

She goes to sleep in a beautiful room, possibly the most beautiful room she has ever seen, after the most incredible drink of tea she’s ever tasted. The next day she wakes up. Same room. Nothing is different. Stunned she takes the five thousand dollars and leaves. She’s no idea what’s happened, but she pays off the loan shark in full.

A few more nights and she can pay off everything.

The idea is that somehow the Aurora Dreams institute are drugging women and hiring them out to people for sex overnight. The tea they drink doesn’t put them to sleep, it merely shuts off their conscious brain and they become little more than pliable sex dolls. The more beautiful the woman, the higher a price they can charge.

My character gets in above their head. Will your character be somebody who can help her escape? Somebody wanting to keep her all to themselves? Is your character a handsome prince intent on waking her up from this nightmare? Or is he a devilish rogue with his own agenda?

☆Through the Looking Glass☆

Alice hates her life. An eighteen year old with controlling, religious parents, she never gets to go out and live her life.  One day, after an epic fight with her mother she’s banished to her bedroom. Woe behold she see’s her own reflection looking back at her, but instead of her bedroom her reflection is in an ornate and glittering bedroom. Silks hand from the walls and sunshine beams in through the open windows.

“You look sad.” Says her reflection, taking a cup of china tea from the white rabbit who’s just hopped in with a tray. “I’ll tell you what, let’s trade places, just for a day. You can have some fun and I can see your world.”

Against her better judgement, Alice agrees to the trade. She places a hand on the glass and is twisted to the void to the other side. Hardly able to believe it, she turns and see’s herself with a frightful grin on her face. “Sucker.” She laughs before smashing the mirror.

Alice is trapped in Wonderland. In the body of her princess doppelganger, civil war is erupting and everybody wants the head of the wicked Princess of Hearts. Can she turn things around and save her head? Can she escape?

☆Aladdin☆

Jasmine is the most beautiful princess in this or any other land. The youngest of the sultan’s daughters, he’s using her as a prize to win the most suitable candidate to hand his kingdom over to. When Jasmine meets Aladdin on the streets of Agrabah, she falls for the smooth taking beautiful man almost instantly. Upon discovery, though her father confides in her that Aladdin isn’t who he seems, her father had a wife once who died very young and his son was stolen from the palace. Aladdin looks just like her and he believes Aladdin is his son. He embraces his long lost son and exalts him to the role of Prince. Prince Ali. The Kingdom loves him. Jasmine is torn between desperate jealousy and being madly in love with a man who’s apparently her brother.
What’s a girl to do? She teams up with the shady grand vizier and sets off to acquire a genie of course.

Will your character be Aladdin, the long lost prince? The dark and mysterious Vizier? Or even the genie himself?

☆The Little Mermaid☆

From the Deep

^{“This quiet little seaside town has a gruesome history. It might look pretty, but that’s because people are forgetting, moving closer to the water again. Hundreds of years ago when it was first settled, it was a fishing town, full of promise. Months passed, houses were built, and then they came. On the night of the full moon, thunder masking the shrieks as they scurried up onto the land from beneath the waves, tearing people from their beds, ripping them apart. Half of the settlement was murdered; body parts still being found weeks later. In the streets, buildings, washing up onto the shore. Slowly they moved away from the water, the beachside houses abandoned, left rotting, the fisheries closed down. It left generations of people, terrified of the ocean. But now, we’re forgetting our history, forgetting the warnings.”}

“Grandma,” he sighed in that world weary way only a child can, “I’ve heard the legends of the mermaids. They don’t scare me, I’m ten, not three. I don’t believe in monsters.” A throaty chuckle escaped the old woman.

“I forget how big you’re getting.” She handed him the biscuit tin that he was hovering in the kitchen for. The storm clouds were rolling in from over the ocean, a good distance away yet. “But sometimes, not believing is the childish thing to do. You’ve been to the museum, you’ve seen the skeletons. The proof.”

“It’s just fake, if we lost the mermaids we’d lose the entire tourism industry.”

“You,” she paused, pinching his chin between her thumb and her finger and tipping his head to hers, before laughing indulgently, “you sound just like your father.”

“It’s just logic. You can’t tell me, that in a town where it rains three hundred days out of the year, that it’s realistically been centuries since the last time it rained on a full moon. That’s just ridiculous.”

“Perhaps. I’ll tell you what. When it rains on a full moon, come and tell me, then I’ll admit it’s all nonsense. But if it doesn’t…” she trailed off, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

“Fine. Fine. Can I go out and play now? It’s going to start raining soon and we want to find some crabs first.”

“Go on. But be careful.”

“I know, I know, mermaaaaids.” He waved his hands and spoke like he was imitating a ghost.

“Actually, I was going to say that the tide can be affected by the storm and I’d hate for it to catch you off guard on the rocks. But yes, be careful of the mermaids too.” She winked. He rolled his eyes and all but jogged from the little cottage to meet up with his friends.

At first, he’d watch during the full moon just so that he could tell his grandmother she was wrong the next day. Each month would come and go, and there would be no rain. Then, after she died, he’d look at the clear skies and the moon shining down on him and remember her.

Before he knew it, decades had passed and it was him who would walk along the beach and tell his granddaughter the tails of old, of man-eating fish women from the depths. She’d look up at him, in wide-eyed horror and he’d laugh indulgently, lift her up and assure her that they were all stories. And yet something about the full moon always called him out.

One night he was sitting on the deck of his home, overlooking the rolling waves beyond, the full moon illuminating the beach beautifully. He sipped at his beer and marvelled at the stars twinkling off the ocean. He could get lost out here at night, remembering when he was a young boy, clambering over rocks he’d never manage anymore. He couldn't even climb the stairs easily. He missed his grandmother, even though she’d been dead for more of his life than she’d not.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump.

“Easy now, I'm not going to eat you.” His wife teased, “it’s late. I was wondering if you’re coming to bed.”

“I will. Soon.” He placed his hand on top of hers and was caught off guard by a splash. He looked up, but there was nothing that could account for the single droplet of water on his hand.

“You’ll have too.” She sighed, “it looks like it’s going to rain.”

“No,” he shook he head doubtfully, “it never rains on the full moon. Trust me.”

“Okay then.” She arched an eyebrow sceptically, “I’ll meet you in bed. You know how I hate the rain.”

“And yet you don’t want to move.” He laughed, “I know, I know. Go in, I'll be there soon. But it’s not going to rain.”

It couldn’t. The skies were clear. The door closed softly and he looked to the sky again, watching for any hint of clouds. It must have been a fluke. Staring in curious wonder at the water on his hand, he brought his hand to his mouth and lapped it up. He cringed when it tasted salty.

After a while, satisfied that it wasn't going to start raining, he finished his beer and stood up, stretching out his aching bones. Heading inside he got ready for bed, only hesitating when he passed the window, noticing that it had gotten awfully dark. Peering outside he could see that the moon was obscured by clouds. A roar of thunder echoed from the distance.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He smiled softly to himself. It was finally raining on a full moon. "I hope you're watching Grams, you owe me an 'I told you so'."



So that's the setup, superstitious town with a questionable history of vicious mermaid-monsters who scurry up onto the land and feast on any humans they can find. Whether related to the above or not, I'm entirely open to ideas. I'd like to write as the mermaid, though the kind of character I play will depend a lot on what my partner wants. I want a sort of horror-meets-inter-species-romance, dark, twisted and potentially minus any happy endings. My mermaid will almost certainly have legs, for at least some of the RP. And she's probably not going to be a 'good one' or a morally superior one. She's more likely to just be gentle with your character...for unspecified reasons, attraction and/or curiosity. I had the idea that I could write her alongside a half-breed, somebody with mermaid in their lineage, diluted, but something which still makes them untasty. Giving her the possible opportunity to lure them into the depths and to a legacy left behind. But they could be anything else supernatural really too.

I just want evil mermaids, damnit!

I also like the idea of tentacles instead of fishtales...but that's just me and not a stickler for the plot!

[Effeari]

Historical Plots

I adore history and will rarely turn down the opportunity to play in the past! Most of my knowledge is in British History but I'm happy to explore other periods. I'm a bit of a history nerd so anything I can write where I need to research and learn? Oh my gosh. Delicious. I also prefer to write male characters when writing historical fiction.

{The King of Lies ~ Medieval/Gender Ambiguity ~ T A K E N}

Being played here.

^{My dear and beloved Majesty,}

The Albian King is a meek, feeble excuse for a man. He speaks little and hides behind men who dwarf him in both stature and grace. His layers of clothes, I believe are a weak attempt to hide the frailty of his body. He spends most of his time observing the court silently but always seems somewhat removed from it, interacts with few beyond his grovelling favourites. It is my genuine concern that he is more unwell than anybody will speak of. The court however is a joyous, wealthy place. And the princesses are a pleasure to behold, the oldest being Katherine. A wise and forward thinking man may see her the obvious choice for matrimony, but there are many a scandal and rumour surrounding her, not to mention that the people have no love for her. I have heard whispers that the King himself wishes to send her away, and though she is second in line for the throne, I could not recommend her. Mary however is both charming, pleasant on the eye and very much in the King’s favour. I believe he would do anything to make her happy. I would stake my very reputation on her being the favourable choice for Your Royal Highness. I would also presume that whoever was to marry Catherine, would not be waiting very long for the Albian throne to open uncontested in the near future.

Yours Faithfully
Marlus, Faithful Ambassdor and loyal unwavering subject of Carthage[/sup]


“We intercepted this from our good friend the Ambassador” a voice snarled over the shoulder of his King. Harry’s green eyes were still reading the words, ignoring the comments of his friend,

“So Mary is to have a proposal” came the soft, lilting voice of the King of Albia. “Finally. I was beginning to wonder how much more wealth I had to bestow on her in order to make her attractive.”

“She...” there was a pause as the man behind George straightened up and chose his words carefully, “is certainly overlooked in comparison to Your Highness’ other sisters.”

“I know, I know, she’s like a fattened pig before harvest. But once she’s married off I only have to worry about Katherine. Charlotte and Lucy will be no trouble once they're of an age, I've had requests for their hands already.”

“But Your Majesty, I fear you’ve missed the insults within the letter. The” he glanced around and lowered his voice “treason. The mere suggestion-“

“The point damages my ego, but nothing more. And it’s nothing that my own councillors do not fret about behind my back. It’s why they’re still desperately squabbling over Katherine’s hand and have been since I was a boy. If I had everybody who foretold my death executed, then I would have no Kingdom. Mary will be married, finally. That is a victory in itself. Make sure the letter doesn’t appear tampered with.”

“Excuse me sire, but you want us to actually send it? To the King of Carthage?”

“Of course. I didn’t spend thousands upon my sister, and throw away three titles just to have the ambassador return home without reccomending the marriage.”

“Well I don’t like it.”

“James” The King softened his voice and stood up, he barely came up to the shoulder of James who was over six foot tall. “Please don’t take it to heart, this is the best outcome. And let's be honest here, we both know I am not an exceptionally virile specimen of a man.”

“You’ll get there. You’re still young yet.”

“That may well be, but for now, let it lie. I’d like some time to rest, could you see that the letter is delivered properly and push back my afternoon appointments by an hour or so? Tell the kitchen servants I’ll have lunch in my rooms.”

“Yes Sire.” The hesitation was obvious but James wasn’t going to ignore a direct order from his King, he may be family, and he may have been his regent for a few years, but he wasn’t so blinded by affection that he would go against express commands. With a nod, eyes full of disapproval, he left the King’s offices and disappeared into the castle.

When he left, Harry sighed heavily and wandered over to the mirror. At nineteen years old The King knew he would not blossom into a man, his voice would not break and deepen, his height would not suddenly shoot up. Unlike the rest of the world however, he understood why. Gritting his teeth and shrugging off his thick cloak, he moved from the office into his own private living chambers, there was already a fire burning strongly to keep out the October chill. His long, slender fingers moved over the ties of his cotton shirt and pulled it off, dropping it to the floor. Beneath that he wore another shirt, this one of stiff boned leather. Unfastening that at the back, where it had been pulled tight, he dropped that to the floor too. There was a grimace as he fingered the red welts left on his hips by the unyielding farbic. Beneath that again, wrapped as tightly as he could bear, was multiple feet of stiff cotton. Slowly he unravelled them from his chest, it was only when they fell to the floor that he could breathe, move, relax.

Harry rolled his neck and rubbed his shoulders tenderly, hands moving down to his now bare chest where he kneaded the bruised and sore flesh of full, finally free breasts. Catching sight of himself in the glass of the window he shared a wry smile with himself. Soft shoulder-length red hair. High cheekbones. Sparkling green eyes. Soft rounded jaw and a pixie nose looked much better on a figure with pert, supple breasts.

And yet people saw what they wanted to see, they excused her feminine features, explained them away as her being young. Inferior. Weak. But a King neverthless. It was beyond their scope of imagination to imagine the truth.

What would her life be like if her father hadn’t announced that he had a son instead of the daughter he actually had? Would she be more desirable than her sisters? Would she be married? Off being ruled by a husband somewhere. Having children? She wondered what her father would think now, the escalation of a small, harmless lie. He hadn't ever imagined that he wouldn't have more children. Harry had been a stop-gap, to keep the wolves of his courtiers at bay, to silence those that demanded a secure succession. She had meant to be written out of history, laughed off when a real Prince had entered the nursery.

Yet that prince had never come, her father had died during her childhood and Harry was surrounded by an entire Kingdom who thought she was a boy.

Once small change, one tiny lie and her life's path had been entirely altered. If it hadn't?

Well, she certainly wouldn’t be running the country, and the mind boggled as to what it would be like under her oldest sister’s rule.

This was the best kept secret in the entire land.

She was the best kept secret.

Dropping down onto the chair in front of the fire, she crossed her legs beneath her, pulling her sword and belt off and dropping them next to the chair. The warmth from the flames felt amazing on her bare skin. Finally, she could have a moment to herself, let her thoughts wander to where they wanted to be, on the man she hadn’t dared see all day. The most important person in the Kingdom and she was running scared. She mustn’t let things go further, one kiss, one stupid kiss. Her first moment of unbridled stupidity, and there it had to stop. No matter that she hadn’t thought of anything but him for a year. No matter that every part of her longed for him. Ached. She was a King to him. And must remain so. They were lucky they hadn’t been caught. An effeminate King was bad enough, perceived homosexuality was enough to lose her the throne entirely.

Her mind replayed the kiss over and over, the desperate rush, the confusion, the disgust in his eyes when he'd pulled away. She'd run then, before he could speak, through the castle and to the safety of guards where he could not confront her. Or tell her it was a mistake. She traced her fingers along her lips gently, as if the ghost of the memory might still be there.

Her life for the health of her Kingdom.

It wasn’t much of a sacrifice if she said it like that.

She would be remembered throughout history, immortal, she’d brought the Kingdom to a new age of riches and strength, they were no longer a laughing stock to the world but a power in their own right. What decent monarch would put their own happiness, relief, feelings before that? She had to sustain it. She had to remain King Harry, uncontested, undoubted.

Princess Harriette would be a pointless addition to the Kingdom's resources.

A tentative knock from the door brought her out of her thoughts, she tensed immediately, everybody knew to not walk in on the King without an express invitation. It was one of the first things she had hammered home within her court, still, she got nervous every time somebody knocked. All it would take was one time, one mistake, one accident and everything would fall apart.

“Your Majesty?” Came another soft voice and she relaxed,

“Come in Celia” she spoke gently, from the servant’s doors crept in one of her best friends. She wasn’t a servant by any means, in fact she was the daughter of one of the oldest families in the Kingdom and widely rumoured to be the King’s mistress. But it didn’t do any good to lend credence to the rumours and so she often used the servant’s entrances into the King’s rooms to avoid shaming her own name. Yet another person sucked into the lie. Celia had attended Harry since they were children and had been only one of two girls raised within the then-Prince’s household.

“You must be freezing” she tutted, “come on, let’s get you dressed. I’ve heard that Grisham is on the warpath and looking for you to go over the accounts.”

“Grisham, bastard doesn’t give me a spare minute.”

“Harry” she hissed, “you might have free reign to swear like a man, but not in front of me.”

“Come at me with those bandages and I’ll be swearing at you.”

“Oh. I could just leave if you like?” She indicated to the door, “I hear lots of Kings parade around with their titties out.” Celia bit back, Harry raised an eyebrow archly before rolling her eyes and grinning broadly.

“Swearing like a man my arse, I learnt it all from you.” And King Harry stood up, sacrificing her comfort once more, and allowed her best friend in the whole world to strap her into her outfit of state. She could take the discomfort, she could take the loneliness, she could survive it all. It was a heavy burden but as long as she didn't get dragged into feelings and scandal, she would be fine.

<sup>I want a gender-confused RP, but not in the usual way. I want to write a royal roleplay in which the King is actually a Queen, a beautiful princess disguised and raised as a boy in order to trick the Kingdom into thinking her father had a male heir. The plot will focus on the intricacies and danger in such deception. Not to mention a burgeoning relationship dealing with the issues and secrecy surrounding the secret.

I don't have any solid ideas/direction yet, and I am happy to play either the female King, or the man who falls for her.

This is a slight mockup I wrote to give an idea of what I am looking for, but none of the details are sticklers. It's entirely open for discussion.

So have a read, and if it's something that sparks your imagination then please give me a message! It's a plot I've thrown around before but never quite found the right balance of partner.</sup>

[/sup]

{Betwixt Thorns ~ Love-Triangle/Incest/Forbidden}

Being played here.

I’m looking for a partner who would like to jump into an illicit, incestuous, medieval love triangle. Can be fantasy. Can be historical. The setting can be almost anything you like.

One King. Two Princesses.

She watched him carefully, another dirty face in the crowd waiting patiently for a glimpse of him. Their King, the most exalted in society, their Kingdom hinged around him. But she, she never really thought she’d see him. People travelled to the castle for many reasons, hers was the death of her father and an argument over land. Nobody expected to see him, usually it was advisers and Lords. But there he was, sat on the high throne, beautiful and Godly. She swallowed thickly as another of them, another peasant knelt before the throne stuttering over his words, appealing to a man who seemed as bored listening as they all did waiting.

Every now and then the man standing next to him, dressed almost as exquisitely, would dip his head and whisper to His Highness, who would smirk or laugh, before muttering something generic and wave them off. Next. Sarah didn’t want to be standing here, in a palace that she felt entirely out of place in, she wanted to be at home. With her family.

This entire place felt alien. People pushed passed her and she backed further into the crowd, delaying the moment where she would have to kneel before him, those dark curls, those dark eyes, and accept that the man that they spent their time obsessing over, gossiping about, had no care that they existed. To him, they were a job. A boring task he must endure. For Sarah? It was the moment of a lifetime, a moment she would pass down to her children, the moment she knelt before the King. Somehow it would be okay in her memory, but right now? She looked down at her threadbare clothes and dirty hands and wondered whether he would even see her as a woman.

The King was in the market to be married. A perfectly eligible bachelor, and how his people enjoyed speculating over who that might be? When? They wanted a royal wedding, something beautiful and exciting. Who would capture the heart of their King?

How many times had she fallen asleep at night, remembering the story of his mother? A beautiful young woman who had caught the eye of the King, a nobody, who had become Queen. Except she hadn’t been a nobody, not really, she had been the daughter of a Lord. Not a princess for sure, no royal blood flowed through her veins, but not a nobody. It was a fantasy, that The King might look at her and fall deeply in love. That she would be pulled out of the mud and swill of her pig farm and live here. Like this. True love beating the odds.

As the queue got smaller and smaller, Sarah realised that she wouldn’t be able to put it off much longer. Her legs felt like jelly and she was trembling. The thought of those superior eyes, judging her, finding her wanting was overwhelming. Worse still, what if he didn't even look at her enough to draw a conclusion. She was so lost in her own thoughts that when the doors at the far end of the room opened, she was one of the last ones to drop to a curtsy. Which meant she got a very good look at the beautiful auburn haired princess as she swept into the room. Her hair fell down her back, smoothly and flowed like water. Sarah’s mouth dropped open as she bent her knees and dropped down. The Princess looked nothing like her brother, and though she had seen portraits, in person she was so much more beautiful. How could Sarah hope to compete with women like that? The Princess was noblewoman through and through, every bit as beautiful as her mother had been. No wonder she'd been able to transfix the old king if she'd been half as pretty as her daughter. Smooth, porcelain skin and a dress that begged to have fingers run along the deliciously soft fabric.

Her eyes fell to the King, but he wasn’t looking anywhere else but his sister. She swept to the throne and leant close to his ear, there was no hesitation, no formality or ceremony. To her he was not a King, he was her brother. It was an ease that Sarah envied. These Gods weren’t people. They couldn’t be people. Because for them to live like this, whilst she lived in squalor, it seemed too unfair. They had to be better than people. Chosen by God. The King’s laugh cut through the room infectiously, Sarah would remember that laugh for the rest of her life. But it was bittersweet because shortly after it the King rose and excused himself. The friend who had been speaking with him, sat down on a stool next to the throne and took over the absent monarch’s duties. Sarah never did get to meet the King, but secretly, she preferred it that way.



The first princess is his older sister. Theirs is a secret and forbidden, unconsummated love affair. She is the love of his life, passionate and demanding. She's his right hand. Unfortunately, they're weighed down by many problems. The first biggest that he should marry her off for political gain, but his jealousy won't allow it. The second; that they would be burned for witchcraft if anybody found out his true feelings. They're close, she's basically paraded around like a Queen. They're inseparable. His sister is cunning, wickedly clever and cynical. Not to mention spoiled. She is all too comfortable in her position at court, with her brother under her thumb. Whether they succumb to desire or not, is yet to be discovered.

The second Princess is heir to the neighbouring Kingdom. Together they would unite the Kingdom's forever and exponentially increase their political standing and power. It's too perfect an opportunity to pass up. So the marriage is arranged. Her ways are not his ways; her country is very different frigid, god-fearing and war-hungry. But aside from her rigid sense of purpose, she is naive, noble and sweet. Fiercely loyal to her Kingdom and people and easily manipulated by her jealousy of the King's Sister. Can she oust her rival and claim her dominance over the King?

I want the story to encompass, pretty much, him trying to juggle politics, war and these two women. He needs to marry, but he also cannot pull himself free of the forbidden lure of his sister. They're addicted to one another. But his bride-to-be is a refreshing, submissive soul who awakens something in his that he didn't know existed.

The setting, as I mentioned, is entirely fluid. Accurate historical trope? Done. Want magic? Done. Dragons? Double done! Vampires/werewolves/witches...done! I'm sure you get the idea. The characters can be thrust into whatever world your dark little imagination fancies.

The Princesses are polar opposites of each other and he falls in love with them both, he needs them both. The King is walking a knife-edge of lust and scandal, one mistep away from losing everything.

Does anybody want to play?

{From the Everlasting ~ Paranormal/Dark/Vampires}

Ab Aeterno
From the everlasting

^{This is a long blurb so I'll skip making you read it and tell you what I want from this. I want a vampire hunter, somebody driven and ridiculously cunning. On the back of a huge revolt attempting to wipe the unholy creatures from the face of the Earth. He falls in love with a vampire, unknowingly at first. And then it's a matter of principle. Can she keep it secret? Can he work it out? Will she kill him to save herself? Will he overlook her bloodthirsty nature? Typical Vampire-y stuff!}




The city was dark, torches from the stores either side lit the narrow cobbled streets of the capital, flames fluttering, oblivious to the torment and blood that had bathed these very walkways not so very long ago. These days’ people moved through the darkness, their heads down and their voices low, pretense that everything was normal but a lingering sense of danger that war had seeped through to the population’s very core. It would pass, feelings were fleeting and even now there was laughter in the distance carrying over the smoggy city. Humanity was adaptable and memories gave way to new ones constantly, if one stood still they could witness the very change in the air, but so few stood still these days. The Parisian night-life was slowly but surely coming back to life as people braved leaving their homes, the bitter winter was ebbing away to a brisk spring and with the less frigid climate brought hope.

Through one low doorway in particular, there was deathly silence but though born initially of fear it mostly served to symbolise the rapt attention of the crowd surrounding the old crone sitting at the bar. Romany, it was obvious by the style of her dress and the darkness to her skin, if that was not enough the gold decorating her neck, fingers and ears would leave anybody in little doubt. Perhaps a beauty once her hair was now laced with grey, very little of the dark locks remaining, skin weathered and wrinkled. This didn’t hinder the stares though and everybody watched her, listened as the words poured from her lips. Her French was broken; every now and then she would stumble over a word and retreat to a different language in order to press her point. The subject was as morbid as they came these days, the dark, grim legends of the moroi, vampires. The gypsy’s tales had gained new fervour on the back of the bloody war and the massacre of some of the oldest families in Europe, and the travellers were never a group to hold off on making a profit. It was more than likely they edged the legends along, in a time that was ripe for the conjecture of superstition and fantasy.

People were so desperate for some intangible fear to cling to, something that they could insist wasn’t real, something to eclipse the terror that many had witnessed. A coping mechanism exploited to make a profit and those that complained of it the loudest were merely bitter about not having thought of it first.

Every so often the old woman would pause as if her throat was sore, gold would tease more information from her lips but she would feign reluctance and exhaustion. It was an old trick, but evidentially when one pedalled tales of nightmares then one will easily get away with it. A couple watched on from the corner, close to the window, with seemingly rather less interest than the rest of the crowd.

“The thing that should be at the forefront of your mind when dealing with the beasts; is that the myths, the legends that you see, read, hear – they’re origins are all the same. Vampires are not to be trusted; their weaknesses are passed around well-known enough, but those weaknesses spewed forth from their fork tongued mouths so long ago. Would you trust the word of the devil? They would happily exaggerate the legends that don’t hurt them, that which holds no fear for them. However they would keep silent about their real-“

“You’re saying they do not work? What of wooden stakes, mirrors, crosses, garlic?” Somebody interrupted from the back but the old woman didn’t miss a beat, she had practiced her part well and often, her purse was heavy now and she was pleased enough to indulge in the way that most old women like to talk. Even though she should be heading back to camp she shook her head and forgot herself for a moment, success and liquor fogging her mind, she forgot the reason that the real weaknesses of legends were not spoken of.

“And what of your mind? Would you wield a stake before a creature that could slide inside your mind, convince your own arm to independently drive the object through your own heart? They are not things that can be slaughtered easily; an army might do it at a push. If they knew the key, the only way to properly destroy a vampire. Fire. You have to burn it. For a beast that can regrow limbs at will, even decapitation is pointless. You’ll stop it for a while but given time even the head will regrow. Fire, you need to destroy the body and the beast within which-“

“Enough” a firm voice cut through the hushed silence. As one the crowd turned to face the woman that had spoken and the gypsy’s own eyes fastened to the young girl. “Do you not think we have enough tales of blood and murder to fill our nights without inventing more?”

“You think these are merely bedtime stories?”

“I think they are nonsense” Ecatarina Landau spoke, the slight girl was sitting with her husband who by direct contrast was a brute of a man. The Duke of Leuchtenberg was not only tall, but also built for fighting and at six foot one he stood almost two heads taller than his wife who barely topped five foot six, the large man didn’t move though; he didn’t even turn his head in reaction as the girl spoke. “Monsters are not real; we have enough in our midst without inventing vile creatures to haunt our thoughts in our beds.”

“What of the Archdukes of old, Counts, Palatines none of whom are returning home. Do you think that mere coincidence? The slaughter of entire lines of nobility-”

“I think that if you are implying they were vampires they cannot be so powerful if they were so easily put down by an army. There are no sinister motives behind these deaths, or at least none so far from the gains of land and money that falls to the Kingdom at the death of heirless men.” A few of the gazes shifted back to the old woman to hear her rebuttal but a great portion had already lost interest and had begun making their way to their homes. Things seemed to be taking a turn away from the macabre and heading in a far more political angle and politics were not something people discussed lightly at the moment.

“Years of easy living, isolation, it made them ill-prepared is all. Men’s trickery-“

“Again I say enough. Go and pedal your poisonous prattle elsewhere.”

“I merely try to educate dear,” the old woman stood and collected up her money from the bar, it appeared that the story had reached its end after all. Ecatarina watched as she moved out of the room but it was another hour or so before the young woman and her husband stepped out onto the street, she was surprised to find the woman still there in the cold night air talking to a few stragglers from inside. Beneath her hooded cloak she swept away down the street but her hearing, her immaculately attuned, impossibly accurate hearing, picked up every word spoken as if she were stood right next to the woman.

“What if there are more, more to come and avenge their fallen brothers?”

“There won’t be, vampires are solitary, territorial things, their co-operation can be sustained perhaps briefly for an adequate prize but left alone they would happily destroy each other, do not fear over much. Vampires mostly desire to be alone.”

“And what of you?” The Duke walked back towards the group, his gravelly, deep voice threatening, towering above them all, his forearms were as thick as most men’s legs. “Are the gypsies not supposed to be loyal to these vampires?”

“You speak of the Szgany?” she said with a knowing smile, “perhaps there was a time long ago. But alas, there are no great lords left to pledge loyalty to.” It was obvious she was indulging his scepticism now, playing on his doubts before she excused herself and finally made her way down the street. Ecatarina watched from the shadows only stepping out as her husband drew near, he didn’t react as she stepped in line with him, he didn’t react to anything that she did not will him to. Outwardly she was mostly hidden in darkness, the midnight satin of her thick hooded cloak gave nothing but the merest glance at the porcelain skin and delicate features of the woman beneath, except for the bright, knowing blue eyes which even the darkness was having trouble masking.

It would be better for all of them when she could return back to her home, or perhaps even his, all the Duchess could do was hope that whatever the Emperor wanted from Jochen would be finished soon. Experience had taught her to be ill at ease in cities, around human’s and with so called ‘vampire hunters’ running rife all looking to make their fortune, rumour and stories were beginning to border on offensive. Still occasionally it was handy, if even to wheedle out the few who knew too much.

The old gypsy woman would be found in her bed tomorrow, every last scrap of sanity banished from her mind, rambling and fighting against sweat drenched sheets. For there were after all, some things that needed to be kept quiet and Cat was not at all fond of people knowing too much about her condition. Mystery was part and parcel of what had kept her safe this long and with so many fallen she needed to be even more careful. So as Ecatarina walked towards their home, seemingly guided by the protective hand of her warrior husband she reminded herself who she was and bit back the burnt pride that the animal within prickled at. For now she wasn’t Ecaterina Dănești, it was quite possible she would never be able to openly lay claim to that name, that dynasty ever again, though for all the names she had brandished her own was still her favourite.

At the moment she was Duchess Catherine Landau, beautiful, young English bride of the near savage and untameable brute Jochen Landau, Duke of Leuchtenberg. Touching a hand to his arm she smiled wryly, he hadn’t been so hard to tame in the end. As they stepped into the carriage that would take them from the city proper to where their home lay on the elite outer-rings of the city, Cat sat and folded her hands against her silken skirts, she hated to ride when she could traverse the distance on foot in less time but there were always appearances to worry about.

These were dangerous times.

Morning was not too far off now, even though it would be a while before the sunlight broke through the thick cloud that obscured the stars from view, she could still sense the harmful, acidic shift of the Earth towards that hateful period of light. Jochen would be her eyes then as she engulfed herself in shadows, he had business tomorrow as he had had every day for the past week, and she was eager to find out what new developments would disturb their newly found peace. Most women would stay in the country whilst their husband attended to matters of business, but she had never been most women. It was agonising enough to remain a spectator when she should by rights be exerting her place in the world, without remaining entirely isolated and unseen as well.

She might be a woman but the thing inside her, the ever-growing thing, was not. The restrictive, weakly feminine body that it found itself housed in was a crippling, frustrating disability that it had not yet been able to transcend. Hush, her mind soothed as it always did when she felt her insides begin to creep and crawl, no matter; we have made it work until now. Frailties of her gender aside, it didn’t hinder the sharpness of her mind and survival was something her and the beast could at least agree on.

{ The Virgin Queen ~ Historical/Forbidden/Political ~ T A K E N

The Virgin Queen

She was but twelve when she was sent from home and married to the most powerful King in the civilised world. The third daughter in a family with seven living children, her beauty alone secured her advantageous marriage. Alas at the feast of their wedding her elderly husband suffered a tragic stroke and has been bed-ridden ever since. The young Queen prayed with her kingdom for a speedy recovery for their King. Deep down she half hoped that the decrepit old man she was expected to be a wife to, stayed where he was. This way the world didn't seem quite so frightful, her husband was a kind old man who instead of bedding her, regaled her with stories of his youth, of glory, battles and romance.

As the time went by he ruled the Kingdom from his bed, though year by year even his faculties began to fail him.

Eight years went by and her beauty blossomed, she took her role as Queen seriously and filled her days with charity and joy. A virgin still, but she enjoyed her position and proved herself wise and shrewd, traits which allowed the King to place more and more trust in her when it came to managing his Kingdom. Slowly her job became picking up his slack, preventing the world from seeing the only King most of them had ever know, succumb to time. A more faithful, benevolent and kind Queen the King could never have found. The world spoke of her beauty, her patiences, letters from her father reminded her monthly that her hand was a great commodity but for every year her old husband clung to life her beauty would fade and it would be harder and harder to remarry her. Courtiers tried to seduce her, flirtations that went largely unnoticed. She was married in the eyes of God and to a good man.

Her loyalty never swayed.

Until the Prince came to court.

Heir apparent to the Kingdom, born to the Old King’s first wife, he’s selfish, young, proud, arrogant and devilishly handsome. He can have any woman in the Kingdom, save for the most beautiful, for she belongs to his father. In name if not body.

Will his challenge be her ruin?

[Effeari]

Updates

20^th March 2013
Changed availability.
Retired some plots.
Edited a bit of writing.
Added some fandoms.
Altered cravings.

3^rd May 2013
Changed availability.
Moved some plots from a separate interest check.
Highlighted some fandoms.
Closed a plot.

19^th May 2013
Changed availability.
Added plot; Scales
Added plot; Flashes

25^th May 2013
Changed availability (again).
Added plot; Bindings of Silk
Added plot; From the Everlasting
Closed a plot; Flashes

02^nd May 2015
Changed availability.
Removed 'takings' from all plots, therefor opening them up for new players.
Removed fandom options.

21^st May 2015
Changed availability.
Altered all of the 'fairy-tale' plots, including adding new pictures.
Changed some bits :) to the intro.
Added the taken plot, The Boleyn King

22^nd May 2015
Changed availability. Again!
Altered all of the 'fairy-tale' plots, including adding new pictures.
Added Alice in Wonderland plot!
His Pet is now taken.
Moved two plots to Graveyard.
Added Sleeping Beauty plot.


22^nd December 2015
Changed availability.
Migrated Fairy Tale Plots to a different thread.

22^nd May 2017
Changed availability. I'm back after a long hiatus.
Added plot; Sins of the Father

22^nd May 2017
Changed availability. All full up for now guys.

14^th August 2017
Added plot; The Desires of Dragons
Moved a few things around.
I like to have some place to keep my ideas in check!

3^rd June 2018
Changed availability.
Added From the Deep plot.
Added disclaimer.
Deleted some plots.

2018/2019 = Intermittent 'Maternity Leave', pregnancy is HELL!

9^th November 2019
Changed availability.
Added Twisted Fairytale Ideas
Added Joker and Harley plot.
Back from a LONG break! Phew.

24^th November 2019
Moved some plots around into sections. Changed…well…everything about the main post.
Added: Betwixt Two Thorns, The Reaping, Yes Master
Looking for new partners!

29^th December 2019
Minor edits.
Added: The Gateway & The Virgin Queen